


beach house living

by haemophilus



Series: Transcendental Youth [8]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cocaine, Codependency, Date Rape, Dissociation, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Burning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Involuntary Hospitalization, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, New Jersey, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Incest, One-Sided Attraction, Psychiatric Physical Restraint, Relapse, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Siblings, Sobriety, Taking the Dicktowel Show Way Too Seriously, Therapy, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-23 08:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemophilus/pseuds/haemophilus
Summary: Dee and Dennis are hoping to run away from their problems at the Jersey Shore. Too bad codependency is one thing they can never escape.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Blanket warning for the entire fic about child abuse, substance abuse, mentions of rape, date rape, non-explicit sibling incest, and codependency. You know. . .Dee and Dennis being their terrible selves. I think the warning tags are pretty thorough, but I will note in each chapter where they are relevant.
> 
> Cover art by the lovely [macdenmarco](macdenmarco.tumblr.com) aka [woollen_pharaohs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs)! Her work is brilliant, so check it out if you haven't already.
> 
> Title from Summer Shandy by The Front Bottoms

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/151247829@N04/36895394811/in/dateposted-public/)

The ride from Philly to the Shore was uncharacteristically quiet once Frank’s swearing at the city traffic died down and they hit the brief stretch of pinelands connecting Pennsylvania and Ocean City. Dee stared out the window moodily, watching the trees on the parkway blur with the speed of the car. Frank refused to go any speed less than 90 on the Atlantic City expressway; the drivers surrounding him, including every police car, seemed to feel the same way.

Frank crossed two lanes without stopping, and Dee held onto her seat as he narrowly missed being hit by four honking cars.

“Jesus, Dad!” she gasped. “You almost just killed us.”

“Don’t give me any lip, Deandra,” he said. “My driving is fine.”

He swerved across two lanes again. Dee clenched the arm rest on the chair. She looked over to her brother to see if he was sleeping through this insanity. His face was smushed against the window, but his eyes were wide open. Dee poked his arm.

“Back me up on this one,” she said. He blinked, and came out of his reverie.

“Hm?”

“Tell Dad he’s being a terrible driver,” she said.

“You’re a terrible father,” said Dennis absentmindedly. Close enough.

“Don’t drag your brother into this,” said Frank. “I didn’t raise you to be a manipulative bitch.”

“You hardly raised us at all,” grumbled Dee, too quiet for Frank to hear. The insult stung too much for her to keep on; she let it go.

Dennis stuck his face to the window again, a faraway look in his eyes. It was often easy for Dee to figure out what Dennis was moody about – usually being rejected by a girl way too hot to say yes – but the several months distance while she was in the hospital had severed some of those ties. For the first time, Dennis’s inner and outer life were a mystery to her. His eyes closed, and his head lolled onto his shoulder. She took this as an advantage to look, really look at him, without running the risk of him grandstanding or preening too much to figure out what his deal was.

He didn’t look too different since the last time she had seen him. A small beer gut, a little more muscle tone in his arms. The purple bags under his eyes that he’d had since he was ten had gotten a little darker. She looked at his nose and oh – there it was. Hint of redness underneath. Looked like snorting coke had turned into a habit. Dee looked at their mom, fast asleep in a pill stupor, and back at Dennis whose hands had started to twitch in sleep. Like mother, like son.

In the hospital, Dee’s stupid therapist really liked to use the word ‘codependent’ when talking about her family. Dee’s preferred word was ‘fucking trainwreck,’ because hell would freeze over before she admitted any dependence on any of the lunatics she called her relatives. Honestly, it was ridiculous that she, the sanest of all of them, was the one who ended up in the hospital. God only knows how Dennis hadn’t been yet. He twitched in his sleep again, and wrapped his arms around himself. Honestly, it was only a matter of time.

Finally, the quiet in the car got to be too much. She dug around in her purse for her Walkman, put on her headphones, and pressed play. The harmonious, friendly voices of Boyz II Men filled her ears. She smiled as she leaned back onto her headrest, and closed her eyes.

_Girl whatever you ask me, you know, I could do. . ._

Within three miles, she was fast asleep.

*

Dee woke to the feel of the car decelerating as Frank pulled in to the neighborhood of beachfront rentals. The bright pastels of the beach houses, so starkly contrasted to the landscape in the daytime, were muted in the absence of sunlight. Each house was inhabited for the summer by its own fucked up rich family; even the tiniest rentals on the shore housed millionaires.

She sat up in her seat, and stretched. Sleeping in the car was a mistake; Dee’s back would be sore for the rest of the night now. Stupid scoliosis. She scowled at her mother who was still entirely dead to the world. Always calling her ugly – well, scoliosis was genetic, bitch. Pop-pop never showed her pictures of their mother when she was a teenager; there was no way in hell she hadn’t had to wear a back brace too.

As if stirred by Dee’s negative thoughts, Barbara awoke. She yawned, and looked at the window.

“Don’t tell me you rented that hideous pink one again,” she said.

“That one is condemned now,” said Frank. “Black mold.”

“I told you that house was trashy,” said Barbara.

“I rented it for the view!” said Frank. “Water got in it – it was perfectly fine before.”

“All the other women constantly told me how _hideous_ it was,” said Barbara. She rubbed at her temple in soothing circles as if stressed by the very thought.

“Ha! Not surprising considering those broads are somehow even bigger bitches than you are,” said Frank.

Barbara scoffed. “We’ll see what the children think. Children, tell your father last year’s house was a pile of garbage.”

Dee could see her mother’s smug expression reflected in the righthand mirror; three against one and her dad would lose. Well, Dee was a grown adult now, and like fuck was she taking either of their sides. She folded her arms and looked defiantly out the window.

“No, this is between you and me, you whore. Don’t bring the kids into this!” said Frank.

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll win?” said Barbara. “Children, tell your father I’m right so this horrid argument can be over with.”

Goddammit. Two hours into their trip had erased any semblance of Dee’s adult agency from her parents’ minds. She might as well have been sixteen again. Well, if her parents saw her as sixteen, then she was going to deal with it the way she always did back then. Dee looked over at Dennis who was still sleeping, and kicked him hard in the shin to wake him up.

“Ow!” he cried as he startled awake. Dennis gave her a hurt look. “Dee, what the hell?”

“Mom needs you to tell dad that last year’s house was garbage,” she said.

“So you kicked me awake?” Dennis said. He rubbed his shin in an exaggerated display of pain.

“Seemed like the best way,” said Dee, shrugging.

“Dee, don’t kick your brother,” said Barbara. “You run the risk of breaking his leg with those enormous elephant feet.”

“You’re the one who wanted his opinion!” said Dee.

Dennis looked from Dee to their mother to Frank and back. Recognition dawned on his face; time to clean up by sucking up.

“As much as I’m hurting right now, I’m glad she woke me up, mommy. The house was garbage. Absolute trash.”

Barbara nodded approvingly. “Good boy. See, Frank? Your son agrees with me.”

Dee glanced over at Dennis, who had stopped rubbing his leg and was looking out the window again.

“Mommy? Are you ten?” she muttered.

Dennis shrugged. “All part of playing the game, baby girl,” he said.

Finally, Frank pulled up to a small, pastel-green house all the way at the end of the block. Moss grew up the side, and the windows were covered in a layer of grit. Tiles from the roof were missing, possibly from hurricane damage. The wheels of the car crackled over the gravel as Frank pulled them into the driveway. Dennis startled awake at the noise, and rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand.

“Got a great deal on this one,” said Frank.

“Shocking,” said Barbara.

“Don’t start with me again,” said Frank as he put the car in park. Barbara rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. “Get your shit and get inside, kids.”

The sound of four car doors opening and slamming shut in tandem was harsh on Dee’s ears. She ran as fast as possible to the trunk to grab her bag. If she got into her room fast enough, she could avoid getting in the middle of another argument.

*

Frank had always been too cheap to spring for a summer rental with four bedrooms. Dee and Dennis had a longstanding compromise that in a three-bedroom rental, Dennis would always take the attic. Girls seemed to find taking a ladder to his musty hideaway to be romantic. They had no idea that Dennis kinked on it being difficult for them to get away unless they (ugh) resisted his advances and found out the hard way. Half a dozen summer beach rentals lining the shore in Ocean City were tainted with date rape courtesy of her dear twin brother. It was debatable on whether that would be true if they had agreed to share a room so many years ago, but if Dee was honest, the collateral damage in exchange for space and privacy was worth it.

After unpacking the rest of her stuff, Dee went out into the hallway, and looked up to find the attic. A large rope dangled from the ceiling several feet away, artfully frayed to make it appear older than it actually was. She pulled on it, the door opened, and a ladder spilled out. Dee climbed up the ladder, head ducked in case the ceiling leading into the attic was low. Wise move – it was.

“Kinda cramped in here,” said Dee as she finally stood to three-fourths of her height. Dennis was on his knees, unpacking his belongings into the tiny dresser next to a twin sized bed.

“Nonsense. You’re just gangly,” he said.

“I dunno,” said Dee. “Seems to be perfect size for those sixteen-year-olds you like to bring back here.”

Dennis pulled some of his weird folders out of his backpack, and placed them on top of his dresser. He took the pen cap off of one of them with his mouth, and scribbled something very quickly on the front that was illegible in the dim light.

“I assure you,” he said, muffled by the pen cap. “All of the girls who come back here will be of age.” He stuck the pen cap back on, and tossed it into his backpack. “Guys at the frat showed me how to check licenses.”

“Gross,” said Dee. Dennis shrugged.

“It’s all legal. Above board.”

“Still gross.” Dee fiddled with the string attached to the sole lightbulb in the attic. “This the only light in here? Kinda tacky.”

“Eh, I don’t give a shit. I don’t expect to spend my entire vacation at the Jersey shore in the attic.” He smiled to himself. “Most of the girls who come back here will be too drunk to care anyway.”

“You might want to change it out with a shittier lightbulb,” said Dee. “One of the girls from last summer who remembered you were my brother came up to me and spilled the beans about feeling violated by you. If they can’t see your face as well, you can fake your identity better, and I won’t have to deal with that garbage again.”

Dennis put his last pair of pants in the drawer, closed it, stood up, and turned around. His eyes were livelier than they'd been in the car, and he was grinning creepily. Must've taken something while Dee was unpacking. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I was worried the hospital was gonna knock some morals into you. Glad I was wrong.”

“Hey, I’m not the one raping girls. I just don’t wanna get involved,” said Dee.

Dennis gave her an affronted look. “I don’t rape girls.”

“Ok, well however you have to justify it to yourself, I don’t want a part of it,” said Dee.

Dennis walked over to his empty suitcase, and zipped it up. “Alright,” he said as he rolled it under the bed.

“Looks like you've been doing a lot more coke lately,” she said in a nonchalant voice as he turned to face her again. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, unconsciously twitching his fingers. Defensive.

“You're acting really weird, and it’s red under your nose,” said Dee.

Dennis touched under his nose. “I have a cold.”

“Uh huh.”

Dennis scowled. “Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time?”

Dee folded her arms, covertly digging her nails into her skin to dim her anger. “Well excuse me for caring if my brother is a cokehead.”

“I’m not,” Dennis said in a voice full of pent-up rage. He swallowed it back down. “I’m not a cokehead, Dee.”

“Look,” said Dee. “I just don’t want whatever moody shit you have going on to fuck up my summer, ok? So be a cokehead, don’t be a cokehead, I don’t care. But I’m clean now cos I have to take the stupid pills the hospital gave me, so don’t bring coke or whatever other weird drugs you’re doing home.”

“I take back what I said before,” said Dennis with a glare. “The hospital sucked the fun right out of you.”

Dee breathed in and out, willing the image of Dennis with a black eye out of her head. The voice of her frustratingly calm therapist echoed in her ears.

_Walk away._

“Go fuck yourself, Dennis,” she said as she flipped him the bird and stormed off.

Maybe not the exit her therapist would have wanted, but close enough.

*

“One funnel cake,” said Dee.

The cashier typed into his register. “That will be a dollar,” he said.

She handed the cashier a twenty; he gave her back nineteen, and she pocketed it. Then, he gave her the funnel cake. It was blistering hot, and hurt her fingers. However, the pain was worth it. The food at the hospital had been absolutely disgusting. She was going to use her time at the shore to indulge like she hadn’t in months.

Dee people-watched as she walked along the boardwalk. It was packed with families spending their Thursday night in Ocean City. Children trailed after their parents, and packs of teenagers huddled against the sides of shops. Some of them were covertly drinking from bottles of sunscreen. Dee stared at their bottles as she walked past, yearning in her heart. God, what she wouldn’t give to have a drink –

When one of the girls glared at her, she tore her eyes away. Fuck, sobriety was the pits.

Dee took another bite of her funnel cake; it burned the roof of her mouth. She winced as she swallowed. Better get a drink to cool her mouth down.

She walked over to a stand that sold soft drinks. Dee pulled out five dollars and said, “Can I have a coke?”

“Two dollars,” said the cashier. He gave her back three in change, and handed her a coke. Dee pocketed her change before she picked up the drink. The weather was hot enough that it was already sweating.

A bench appeared to her several feet away. She sat down, and put the coke next to her. From here, she could see the fifty-foot Ferris Wheel flashing and turning. Dee took a sip of her coke; it was as sweet as the funnel cake, and soothed her burn. She took another, smaller bite of the funnel cake, and chewed it slowly as she watched the Ferris Wheel. Hopefully, she’d find a beefcake before long who’d want to ride with her. She sucked some sugar off her finger, and wiped her hand on her pants.

“Dee?” someone called. Dee looked over to who called her, and groaned. Dennis was stumbling towards her, too drunk to walk straight, with a creepy grin on his face. He leered at the girls who walked past as he swayed to-and-fro, but his path didn’t falter. Goddammit – she was too sober for this.

“Hey, Sweet Dee,” he slurred as he slumped against the wall next to her. His breath smelled like beer and vomit. She resisted the urge to gag as he swallowed down one of his own. “It’s been ages.”

Then, he puked on his own shoes.

Pathetic.

*

She gave him a ride home because of course she did, because leaving Dennis to pass out on the boardwalk would definitely have gotten her in trouble somehow.

“I banged a girl already,” he bragged. “So hot.”

“Gross,” said Dee. “Also, I don’t believe you.”

Dennis frowned. “Why are you such a bitch? You’d look. . .lot prettier if you were nice.”

“Keep insulting me and you can walk home,” said Dee.

Dennis mumbled incoherently. He leaned over, turned on the radio, and fiddled with the stations for what seemed like ages.

“Oh my god! Just pick one!”

Finally,  _Summer of 69_  blasted from the speakers. He leaned back into the seat, and smiled.

“This. . .is a great song.”

“It’s okay,” said Dee.

“69 all summer,” said Dennis. He hiccupped. “That’s what I’m going for.”

“Again, gross,” said Dee. Dennis gave her an incredulous look.

“69 isn’t gross! It’s amazing,” he said. “If you ever did it. . .”

Dee clenched the steering wheel. “Can you just shut the hell up until we get back to the house?”

Dennis folded his arms. He tilted his head back. “Just trying to have a conversation.”

“Well, don’t,” said Dee.

To Dee’s surprise, he didn’t respond. Instead, Dennis closed his eyes. His head lolled onto his shoulder, and his breathing slowed.

Thank God.


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for cocaine usage, mention of binge drinking, psychiatric medication, and manipulation

Dennis woke with a pounding head and a dry mouth. Goddammit - he must have drunk his entire weight in liquor last night. He rubbed his temples as he sat up. Light shone through his window like a signal flare, and he winced as he searched around on his bedside table for sunglasses. He breathed a sigh of relief when he put them on. Hangovers were the pits.

The pillow next to him, unfortunately, didn’t smell like a girl. He hadn’t bagged one last night like he’d planned. Dee wasn’t entirely wrong when she’d called him a liar about already banging a girl. Getting a handjob under the boardwalk was nice and all, but he hadn’t been inside a girl in months. College girls were avoiding him ever since a chick he banged drunk had started a rumor that he raped her. Total bullshit.

Dennis got up, squatted down, and pulled his suitcase out from underneath his bed. He extracted a baggie of white powder. ‘Don’t bring any drugs home’ - who was Dee to tell him what to do? Her sobriety was her own fucking business. It wasn’t Dennis’s responsibility to make sure she stayed on the straight and narrow.

Besides, coke wasn’t even that serious. It was practically extra strong coffee. He scooped a little into his fingernail, and bumped it. Good-fucking-morning. Dennis tucked away the rest of the coke, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Thank god he'd been able to get his hands on more so quickly. He'd only had a little left yesterday, so he'd saved it for party prep in the afternoon. Big mistake. A morning without coke was miserable. If Dee wanted him to not be 'weird and moody,' she'd know better than to keep him from doing a morning bump of cocaine.

He took a good look in the mirror, and touched beneath his nose. Dee was right; there was a hint of redness there. He’d have to put on some concealer to cover it up. Dennis winked at himself in the mirror, and tucked it away. Then he sat on his butt, and stretched to touch his toes.

The problem with Dee was that she was far too susceptible to suggestion from anyone who gave her a sliver of attention. Her insane projection on Dennis that he was a cokehead was borne entirely from nonsense drilled into her head by people who made a living preying on the suggestible. 

He flipped over and began doing push-ups. One, two, three, four. . .

Dee was a hedonist at heart. Sobriety was never going to make her happy. No therapist who knew her for six months could ever understand this about his sister. Dee was going to have to be taught from scratch how to live again.

Dennis turned over, and started to do curls. God - he needed to stop drinking so much beer. It was starting to show. One, two, three, four. . .

Obviously, this teacher would be himself. No therapist, friend, boyfriend, anybody - knew his sister as well as he did. Nor could they ever. The fact that Dee came home from the stupid hospital with the idea that she was better than him for not doing drugs absolutely proved that.

Satisfied with the number of curls he’d done, Dennis got up off the ground and stretched to the sky. He walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, and inspected his abdomen. A little soft, perhaps, but girls seemed to like that. They went wild for vulnerability. He poked his stomach; okay, maybe a little soft for a maintenance routine. How about his arms -

Dennis flexed, and a muscle appeared, taut, striking. His arms were perfect, lean muscle that was big but not too big with skin as soft as a baby’s bottom. He looked at the inside of his wrists. Damn, he needed to refresh his tan.

He tilted his head up to get a good look at his jaw. Regal as shit - he was going to get puss in no time at all.

*

Dee was still in her pajamas when Dennis arrived downstairs. She was eating cereal and watching Good Morning America with a glazed look in her eye. Her cup of coffee was half-empty; it dripped down the sides to pool around its base. Dee took a sip of coffee, and winced.

“Why does it always get cold so fast?” she mumbled to herself.

“You always let it sit out too long,” said Dennis.

Dee rolled her eyes as she spooned more cereal into her mouth.

“I know how coffee works. It wasn’t an actual question,” she said, mouth half-full.

Dennis poured himself a cup from the coffee-maker, and sat down next to her. He sipped it slowly to avoid burning his mouth.

“Since when do you watch Good Morning America?”

“Since my meds started turning my brain into mush until noon,” said Dee.

“Sounds fun,” said Dennis.

“Oh, yeah,” said Dee, voice dripping with sarcasm.

_Coming up - we’ll tell you where to get the cutest capris._

Dennis took another sip of his coffee. “Jesus. Why would anyone ever wear those?”

“They're comfortable,” said Dee. She took another bite of cereal.

“They're hideous,” said Dennis.

Dee shrugged.

“You don't have to wear them,” she said.

_They’ll never know it’s not butter!_

His sister drank the last of her coffee. She put her empty cereal bowl down on the table. Then, she stood up, and ran her fingers through her messy hair.

“What are you up to today?” said Dennis.

“Beach,” she said. “What are you doing? Drinking yourself into a coma again?”

Dennis frowned at her. “I don’t drink myself into comas.”

Dee grabbed her bowl and her coffee cup and put both of them in the sink. She brushed her hands on her pants.

“Whatever,” she said as she left the room. “But don’t expect another ride from me when you do.”

What a bitch.

*

Dennis strutted barefoot and shirtless on the beach with his chest puffed out. The weather was perfect - hot enough to get a tan, but not hot enough to break a heavy sweat. He winked at girls as he walked past them. His preening was working; four pretty girls had already come over to talk to him. Unfortunately, none of them were over the age of eighteen. However, the day was young, and Dennis had hope that he would capture his prey before long.

The waves were choppy today, so there was a high concentration of lifeguards on the beach. It was fortunate that Dennis had pre-gamed with some shots of vodka before he arrived. Sunscreen flasks were handy when walking among beach goers, but lifeguards were trained to spot and confiscate them. Why Frank always chose to go to the Ocean City beach rather than the Atlantic City beach for their vacations wasn’t exactly a mystery - it was probably cheaper to rent here. However, the Ocean City beach being dry was a real bummer. Once Dennis graduated and got the high-paying job he deserved, it would be all Atlantic City all the time.

Another important part of snagging a girl over the age of eighteen was figuring out if she knew where all the parties were. Putting the work in with a girl who was only useful for mediocre sex was a waste of time. Contrast this with the girl who gave him a hand job last night - sure it was a mediocre lay, but it had the perk of Jell-O shots attached.

As he looked through the crowd, he spotted a familiar face - his sister. She was lying on her back in a polka dot bikini, one leg crossed over the other. Her sunglasses matched. She smiled as she waved her foot back and forth, back and forth to the tune playing on her walkman.

Dennis had been watching her try to seek out men all day. She’d lain on her back, her front, and even posed on her side in a way that looked very uncomfortable. Despite her efforts, the only men who approached her were old or gross. Logical, given her huge feet and gangly limbs. He needed to chat her up first to make sure but - this lack of desirable men could be an in for the first step towards teaching Dee how to live again.

Dee raised her sunglasses as he approached her. He sat down on her towel; she put her sunglasses back on.

“What’s up?”

Dennis leaned back on his hands.

“I’m having some trouble getting girls,” he said. “They’re all too young, too old, or too boring.”

Dee sighed. “I know what you mean. Nothing for me here either. Showed off my flat stomach and for what? So that grandpa over there could perv on me all day.”

Dennis looked around to see who she was talking about. A toothless, fat old man was staring intently at Dee.

“That man is grotesque. Why did you stay here?” he said.

“Because the lifeguard kept walking by and I wanted him to talk to me! I only found out ten minutes ago that the man was married so - total waste of an afternoon,” said Dee.

Here it was. An open door to reintroducing her to the joys of getting wasted.

“Sure you don’t want to party tonight? You might meet someone.” said Dennis.

“Hard pass,” said Dee. She folded her arms behind her head.

Goddammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time - in the original draft I looked up 'fashion trends 1993' because I somehow forgot my own story was set in 1997. Anyway, out with grunge, in with tube tops.


	3. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive trigger warning for date rape in the last section of this fic. It's more character exploration for Dee than plot, so feel free to skip it if that sort of thing is triggering or uncomfortable to you. Also warning for therapy, mental hospitals, triggering of alcohol abuse for someone in recovery, enabling an alcoholic, and depictions of alcohol abuse.
> 
> This fic is messed up but hey the show is worse.

Saturday. Noon. The beach was packed, so much so that Dee had trouble finding a place to put her blanket. The crowd was much more diverse than it had been the past two days. Beefcakes wandered around, carrying surfboards and running their fingers through their hair. Their cut bodies were greased with tanning oil.

Dennis was strutting along the water with his pale chest puffed out. He clearly viewed himself as competition. Typical.

Before coming to the beach, she bought a skimpier bathing suit than the one she’d worn the day before. It was a string bikini one size too small. Her breasts threatened to slip out of it at any minute. The curves of her ass peeked out the sides of the suit. Unlike Dennis, she’d had the wisdom to go to a tanning salon before coming to the beach. Her greased body looked like she had spent every day in the sun for a month instead of, well. . .

She put her arms behind her head to show off her flat stomach as a beefcake walked by. Her heart pounded when the man stopped next to her towel. He smiled at her and said, “Hey.”

Dee smiled back. “Hey, yourself.”

The man looked up and down her body. 

“What’s a babe like you doing all alone on a beach like this?” he asked. 

“Oh, you know,” said Dee, feigning nonchalance. “Just getting a little sun. I’m on vacation. When you go on as many auditions as I do, you get a little tired.” She flashed him another smile. 

The man nodded, looking impressed. “You’re an actress?”

“Aspiring,” she said. Dee turned on her side in a way that emphasized her cleavage. The man eyed it appreciatively.  

“Wanna go to a party with me tonight?” he said, not looking away from her tits.

She shouldn’t. But  _ damn _ , the last time a guy had looked at her like this was before -

“Sure,” said Dee.

*

The music was audible from outside the house when Dee arrived. She pulled down her short dress again to cover her ass, and readjusted her sleeveless bra. Dammit - she should have just worn pasties. Dee took a hand mirror out of her purse, and checked her lipstick. Perfect. She ruffled her hair to give it more volume. Then, she put her mirror back into her purse, and leaned against the side of the house. She breathed in and out, in and out.

Dee lit her roommate on fire after coming home drunk from a party. The memory was a blur of heat and rage, sirens and force. She woke in a nondescript room; her shoes had no laces. 

Breathe.

There was no reason she couldn’t handle a simple party. Plenty of designated drivers would be sober. She could drink Coke and tell everyone that she was a driver too. It didn’t have to be about sobriety. It didn’t have to be anything. It could just  _ be _ .

People were milling around in the yard with Solo cups of booze. Someone chugged a can of beer, and crinkled it in his fist. He threw it into the street; two of his friends cheered. Men cheered for her after a kegstand hours before she lit her roommate on fire. She kissed two of them, and fucked one.

Breathe.

“Dee?” said a familiar voice. She turned, and saw the guy from the beach. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Nice.

“Hey, baby!” she said. Dee hadn't bothered to learn his name - no need for a pump and dump.

He smiled at her. “You look amazing.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said. 

Cheering emanated from the inside of the house, drowning out the loud music. 

“This party sounds amazing,” said the guy from the beach. “I’ve never been to one this big before.”

Dee slung her arm in his. “I have. It’s practically required in the acting industry.”

“Lead the way, then,” he said. 

She stood up straighter, clung to him more tightly, and entered into the chaos.

*

_ Four days in the hospital. Tired, sleepless. Shaky - it was so fucking cold. Her head and stomach ached. Every day, whispers of ‘withdrawal’ and ‘anxiety’ and ‘psychosomatic’ swam around her. The drugs she was on made it hard to think. Everything was underwater. _

_ This lack of clarity was very unhelpful in therapy sessions that expected her to talk. She faded in and out, arms curled around her knees, wishing that she was sleeping - or that she could sleep at all. _

_ “-A trigger is any situation or experience that might make you engage in harmful behaviors. In your case, getting drunk and lighting your roommate on fire,” said the therapist. _

_ “I still don’t see how that’s harmful,” said Dee. “The bitch had it coming. Always bitching about my partying. . .stealing my clothes. . .telling me what to do. . .” _

_ The smell of burning skin. Shock. An ambulance. Heavy breathing. Screams. Fear. _

_ “Dee?” said the therapist. _

_ “Hm?” said Dee. Damn - must have spaced out again.  _

_ “I said, regardless of whether you think she had it coming, we can’t let you out until we’re sure it won’t happen again,” the therapist said. _

_ Dee curled around herself more tightly. She rested her chin on her knees. _

_ “I keep telling everybody that it won’t.” _

_ The therapist straightened her glasses. “I’m afraid that’s not enough. We need to change the thought processes that brought you here. You need to learn how to cope with life differently than you are right now.” _

_ “Everyone else needs to cope with life in a way that’s not terrible,” muttered Dee. _

_ A quiet moment. _

_ “Would you say other people being terrible triggers your desire to drink and hurt people?”  _

_ Dee perked up. “Wait - so you agree that my roommate totally made me light her on fire?” _

_ “No,” said the therapist. Dee wilted. “However, since you feel that other people being terrible is one of your triggers, I can teach you how to cope with those feelings without drinking or hurting others.” _

_ “What if I don’t want to learn that shit?” said Dee. _

_ “Then you can’t leave,” said the therapist. _

_ Another long pause. _

_ “Okay, fine. Give me what you got, doc,” said Dee. _

_ “Let’s start with narrowing down what ‘terrible’ means,” said the therapist. “Tell me more about how people were terrible the night you lit your roommate on fire.” _

*

Even though the house was enormous, the crowd of people inside made the atmosphere claustrophobic. She clung tight to her date as she moved through the sea of people. It struck her that she had no idea where she was headed. She’d been a drinker at every party before this one, so her first stop had always been wherever the liquor was.

Sweat gathered under her armpits. Whether it was heat or anxiety was hard to say. Some drunk asshole elbowed her in the eye as she passed through the crowd.

“Ow!” she cried. Neither he nor her date heard her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This party was an awful, terrible, horrible idea. Someone’s body slammed into her again.

“Watch it!” she screamed. This time, her date heard her.

“Are you okay?” he shouted. Dee huffed hot breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. Calm down. Be normal. Everything was fine. 

She smiled. “I’m great! Just really want to get out of this sea of bodies, you know?”

A heavy person stepped on her foot. She squealed, and looked around to see who had done this bullshit to her. He was gone. A scream started echoing inside her brain. She needed. . .she  _ needed _ . . .

“Dee?” her date yelled over the music.

Fuck it.

“Let’s get drinks!” she shouted.

*

The first sip of beer was like coming home. She had been stranded on an island of sobriety and now her rescue was here in barrels and bottles, cold, bubbly, and sour. One beer, two beers. Dee coughed halfway through chugging her third. It didn’t slow her at all. Before her airways were clear she was at it again. She chugged the rest of the beer, and poured another from the keg.

Her date was still sipping at his first.

“You really can put em back, huh?” he said.

She stopped halfway through her fourth beer to breathe. “Hollywood,” she offered as a half-assed explanation. Her date nodded. He continued sipping. Dee frowned - no way was she the only one getting drunk tonight.

“Do you always drink this slow?” she said.

The guy shrugged. “I don’t really like getting drunk.”

Dee rolled her eyes. “If you’re with me, you’re getting drunk. Hey, shots for my boy toy! Sober boy toy over here!”

Someone came over with a bottle of vodka and some shot glasses. No. . .not  _ someone _ -

“Dennis?” she said.

Her brother was standing on unsteady feet, clearly plastered. “Ayyyy Sweet Dee and. . .beefcake! How many?”

“Just one,” said her date. Dee grabbed his arm.

“Hang on,” said Dee. “Were you expecting us?”

Dennis poured four shots, bopping along to the music. “Hell yeah, baby girl. It’s a great party, right?” He gave her the okay sign with his hand, and winked. “Totally worth the fingerbang I gave to the weird chick staying in this rental.”

“Gross,” said Dee.

He tipped back one of his own shots, and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were red and watering.

“Your select is way better,” he said. “I mean, if I was a chick. . .”

Dennis tossed back another shot.

“My select?” said Dee.

He shook his hands out as though they were wet.

“Yeah. I set you up. Isn’t he great? I mean, I thought for sure he’d take one look at you and say no, but -”

Dee looked up at her date, squeezing his arm tightly.

“Is this true?”

Her date shrugged. “You’re pretty hot. I don’t know why he thought I’d say no.”

Dee glared at Dennis. “Because he’s a manipulative dick.”

Dennis shrugged, and drank a third shot. 

“Did you do all of this to get me drunk, you son of a bitch?” said Dee.

Her brother poured more shots, and moved them towards Dee and her date.

“I did this because you were being boring as  _ shit _ ,” said Dennis. “C’mon, Dee. . .live a little.”

The liquor inside the shot glasses was rippling with the bass of the song. Beer was clouding her brain, making everything around her softer, easier. She rolled her neck. God -

“Just tonight,” she said, picking up the shot glass.

“Just tonight!” said Dennis picking up his own. He clinked her glass. She tipped the shot into her mouth. The harsh liquor burned regret out of her throat.

*

Her date stumbled backwards onto the bed, and she followed suit, toppling on top of him like sloppy dominoes. She reached behind herself to pull off her heels, and tossed them across the room. Then, she tucked her hair behind her ears. Her breathing was heavy and wet. 

He fumbled with the zipper on the back of her dress, but it was no use. The man was too drunk to find it. She sighed and pulled the whole thing over her head. Men.

When she got her dress and underwear off, she looked down at him again. His eyes were closed. A hand was thrown over his face.

“So dizzy. . .” he said. Dee rolled her eyes. 

“Fucking cures the spins,” she said. “Take off your pants.”

He didn’t comply. She scoffed, and pulled them off herself.

“I dunno if I. . .feel good enough to sex,” he mumbled. Dee reached down, and began stroking his dick. She smiled.

“Sure about that? Seems like your dick’s saying otherwise,” she said. Her date hummed in response. Time to kick things up a notch. She swung her hair over her shoulder, and took his dick into her mouth. He started to get hard, and moaned when she rolled his balls in her hand. Dee pulled off.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” she said.

“Mhm,” he replied. His eyes were still closed.

“Hey, wake up!” she said, tapping his cheek. Drunk fucking was one thing, but passed out fucking was in the ballpark of what her creepy brother was probably doing right now. 

He opened his bleary eyes. Much better.

“Whaz going on?” he said. Dee started stroking his dick again.

“We’re gonna fuck,” she said. He nodded slowly, eyes open, but barely.

“Mmm. Okay.” He touched her chest, and smiled. “You’ve got. . .nice boobs. So’s good.”

Dee sunk down onto his cock, and kissed him.

“You’ve got a nice cock,” she said into his mouth. 

She pushed herself up, gasping at the feel of his thick cock inside her. Slowly, she started to ride him. He didn’t say much, but he stayed hard and, every so often, let out a deep groan. She touched herself, flicking her clit as she moved in and out, in and out. Her whole body shuddered when she came.

Ten seconds later, he came inside her. 

“Goddammit!” she said, looking down at him. “Really?”

“I dunno,” he said, putting his hand over his eyes.

“What kind of a guy cums without a warning?” she said. Her date shook his head weakly.

“Can we be done now?” he mumbled. Dee sighed, and lifted herself off of him.

“Whatever. Don’t expect a second date,” she said.


	4. Day 4 - Dee, Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for therapy, alcohol, implied/referenced eating disorder, alcoholism, codependency, enabling, parental abuse, and mentions of institutionalization.
> 
> Yeah I thought this fic was going to be 11 chapters but it's getting a little out of hand behind the scenes of this fic so chapter 4 really needs two chapters. We'll have to see how this plays out lol.
> 
> glennhowerkin.tumblr.com made a wonderful aesthetic for this story! https://glennhowerkin.tumblr.com/post/165134119346/an-aesthetic-for-beach-house-living-by-haemophilus

Morning. The sun shone red against Dee’s closed eyes. She groaned as the heaviness of her hangover sat on her chest. The air was thick, and her stomach hurt. Her bed was trying to swallow her up.

This hangover felt different than so many she’d had in the past. They hadn’t made her bones ache before - at least not after drinking alcohol alone. The closest approximation she could think of was the time she mixed Valium with liquor on her nineteenth birthday. It was worse than what she felt today -  _ God _ , that had made her so sick - but it was. . .suspiciously reminiscent.

Dee grabbed her Depakote from the side table. She turned the bottle around to the list of instructions, as though she didn’t know them by heart.

_ Take one tablet twice daily for mood. Do not take with alcohol. May cause drowsiness. Use care when operating heavy machinery. If pregnant or becoming so, discuss use of drug with your doctor. _

Do not take with alcohol. Fuck. Well, now she knew why. No doubt there was still booze in her system so - missed dosage this morning.

No big deal. Dee had missed a few doses before. She was in recovery, not a saint. Thank god her birth control didn’t conflict with alcohol. That would cause her a whole lot more problems than. . .whatever Depakote did. Nobody would really tell her how it worked other than ‘it takes the edge off.’ Protests of ‘maybe I like having some goddamn edge’ didn’t do much to persuade the doctors to let her out. 

Dee sat up in bed, and put her meds back on the bedside table. 

She’d take them tomorrow.

*

Dennis was either sleeping or out when Dee went downstairs for breakfast. However, someone else was in the kitchen, stirring coffee with a bleary look on her face - her mother. Dee froze on the bottom stair. She hadn’t been alone with her mother since -

_ “Honestly, Deandra, between your back brace and this. . .recovery nonsense you’re basically a walking medical bill.”  _

_ Her mother cut off another driver so she could get out of the parking lot faster. Dee willed the Depakote to check her out of this conversation with her mother. Unfortunately, it didn’t. _

_ “Most of it out of pocket too,” Barbara continued. She turned left on red; four cars honked at her. “Very selfish.” _

_ Breathe. Breathe. Breathe - _

_ “I didn’t ask for any of it!” said Dee. Goddammit. _

_ Barbara shook her head. She changed lanes without checking her blind spot. _

_ “Excuses,” she said. _

_ Dee pressed her face against the window. She closed her eyes. Hopefully, this would make her mother leave her alone. _

_ “Meanwhile, while you’ve been cooped up in this. . .institution, your brother got on the Dean’s list again.” _

_ Dee opened her eyes, and rolled down the window. Goddamn, it was hot in the car. Or maybe the mention of Dennis was just - _

_ “Good for him. How are his rape accusations coming along?” said Dee. _

_ “Rightly dismissed as false,” said Barbara. “Don’t put the window down. Some of us care about how our hair looks.” _

_ Dee put the window back up. “It’s hot as shit in here.” _

_ “Lose some weight. Your body will retain less heat,” said Barbara.  _

_ “They made me gain it in the hospital,” said Dee. The insult stung too much to ignore. “Said I was too thin.” _

_ Barbara scoffed. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” _

_ Dee pressed her face to the window again. She rubbed her palm with her thumb. Stop rising to insults. Be quiet. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter  _ -

She crept into the kitchen, hoping that maybe her mother wouldn’t notice her. Barbara said nothing as Dee made coffee - her mother had left none in the coffee maker. Dee grabbed some milk out of the fridge, and cereal from the pantry. As she poured herself a bowl, her mother said, “Still a fan of carbs, I see.”

Dee ignored her. She grabbed a coffee cup, and poured some coffee into it. Then she sat down on the couch in front of the television. Dee turned on Good Morning America, and took a bite of cereal.

“Ugh, this show is inane,” said her mother. “How did you end up with such terrible taste?”

Mindfulness. Don’t judge the moment. Cereal - crunchy, creamy, cold spoon. Droning television. Answer calmly.

“You don’t have to watch it,” said Dee. Close enough.

Barbara scoffed. “Always so nasty. Just like your father.”

_ I’d rather be like him than be like you, _ she thought. Instead of saying so, she took another bite of cereal.

“Why are you up so early today?” said Dee. 

Barbara went to the liquor drawer, and pulled out some vodka. She poured a little into her coffee. The true mystery was what got her out of bed at all.

“Brunch with the girls,” said Barbara. “They just arrived yesterday.”

Dee nodded as she chewed. Gears turned in her head. Mom’s girls meant their kids and their kids meant parties Dee was invited to by default. That is, unless. . .

“Where did you tell them I was when I was in the hospital?”

Barbara drained the rest of her coffee. 

“Ireland,” her mom replied. 

“Do they know I flunked out?” said Dee. 

“You graduated early,” said Barbara. “Though given your track record at school, I doubt they believe that one.”

Dee took another bite of cereal, and swallowed it down with the insult.

“Do you think they believe Ireland too?” she asked. Her mother paused as she opened the dishwasher. 

“Deandra, if you wanted people to believe you weren’t in the hospital for six months, you shouldn’t have gotten yourself in there,” said Barbara. 

With that, she left the room. The vodka she left behind stared at Dee. 

_ Drink me. You’re on a vacation. It’s normal to drink on vacation. You’ll feel so much better. . . _

Dee went over to the table, and poured vodka into her own coffee.

God, her mother was the worst.

*

She heard them before she saw them. Or, more specifically, she heard  _ him _ before she saw them.

“Ayyyy Sweet Dee! Sweet Dee! Sweet Dee!”

Dee turned to look in the general direction of her brother’s voice. He was sitting in a cluster of their mom’s friends’ kids. They sat leaned on their hands or laid on towels, blonde and beautiful. All of them had double lotion and tanning oil bottles – liquor and the real thing. One of the girls – Ashley – waved hello as Dee walked over. Dee sized her up; she was making nice because she had gained weight. A fake smile broke out on Dee’s face.

“Hi, guys!” she said brightly. “Oh my god, it’s been so long!”

Another girl – Denise – replied, “God, I know!” Her smile was fake too. Maybe she’d also been to ‘Ireland.’

Dee rolled out her towel, and stretched upwards to casually show off the straightness of her back and the flatness of her stomach. She’d gained weight in the hospital, but she still was thinner than a lot of these girls. Several of the boys gazed at her breasts. Dee sat on her towel, and grabbed her sunglasses out of her bag. She put them on, leaned back on her hands, and stared at the sky.

“Beautiful day!” she said.

Another girl – Betty – scrutinized her. A lot of men thought she was pretty, but it was only because she had curly hair. Judging by how she looked at other girls, she was aware of this fact. “Must be nice to appreciate it without that back brace.”

Dee widened her already fake smile. “Oh, it is. No tan lines now.”

“Dennis was just telling us about how you went to Ireland,” said a guy – Chet.

Huh. She had expected him to spill the beans immediately. One-upping was the name of the game in this group, and ‘mental hospital’ would have put her at the bottom of the totem pole. She looked over at Dennis questioningly. He gave her a thumbs-up.

“Yeah,” she said. “It was amazing. Very, uh. . .green.”

“I went to Ireland on vacation last year,” said the prettiest girl – Veronica. She swept her long, full-bodied hair over her shoulder. “It was okay. Not as good as Switzerland or France, but I suppose if you only speak English there’s only so many places you’ll feel at home.”

Dee resisted the urge to roll her eyes. These girls always seemed to think that they could hurt her with passive-aggression, as if it hadn’t been her family’s lingua franca her entire life. If her mother, brother, and father couldn’t crush her to pieces with open and subtle abuse, nobody could.

Veronica, on the other hand, was fragile. Time to hit her where it hurt.

“I hear there are great places to eat in France.” Dee looked at Veronica’s stomach pointedly. “Did you like all the food you ate there?”

“I didn’t eat much. I was too busy,” said Veronica. Her voice was casual, but her eyes were overcast. Good.

“Huh. From the looks of you, I never would have guessed,” said Dee. She smiled again, big and bright. 

Veronica laid back on her towel, and put on sunglasses. “Looks can be deceiving, I suppose.”

Dennis passed Dee a bottle of suntan lotion. She swished it back and forth - liquid.

“UV Blue,” he said. Dee laughed.

“Blue liquid in a suntan bottle. Subtle,” she said. 

Dennis shrugged. “The lifeguards are really shitty today, and I was tired of tequila. Plus, I know you like it better than straight liquor.”

He held his own bottle out in cheers. Dee tapped it, and tipped the bottle into her mouth. As the raspberry taste flooded her tongue, she ruminated on that phrase.

_ I know you like it better. _

Dennis didn’t do things unselfishly. Her favorite liquor, Ireland, inviting her over, the suspicious lack of insults - he had to be enacting some scheme. Definitely something to do with ruining her sobriety because he had something to prove.

But then -

The Jersey Shore had always been a place where they’d gotten along better than usual. Dennis was still the same rapey asshole, but they had agreements, truces. The two of them partied together and laughed together and stuck by each other’s side. Even though he was manipulating her, wasted Dennis was a terrible liar - and last night he’d told her he wanted her to live. Combined with his comments in the attic about the hospital knocking the fun out of her, she sensed an undercurrent of belief that he knew she was happier before she went away.

The hospital had told Dee that the only way to happiness was sobriety. But so far, all it had gotten her was missed parties, withdrawal, and an insatiable craving for alcohol. They’d given her meds that robbed her of an attention span until noon. All for what? So the hospital could brag about another success story, probably. Dee Reynolds, the arsonist gone docile.

Her therapist had known her for six months during the worst time in her life. She’d been cooped up and confused and fooled into thinking that her ticket out of there was the best thing for her well-being. Dennis was a narcissist, an asshole, unstable, selfish - but he knew her. Her brother had seen her outside of the cold walls of institutionalization and the sickness of withdrawal.

He remembered that she liked UV Blue better than liquor.

“So who’s hosting the party tonight? I wanna get wasted,” said Dee.

A gleam in Dennis’s eye. God, he thought he was so great at manipulation.

“Depends,” said Dennis. “Who’s got cocaine?”

*

_ “Dee, do you know what an enabler is?” asked her therapist. _

_ Two weeks into the hospital, Dee was pretty fed up with therapy. She was in her usual position, legs drawn up to her chest, chin on her knees. The room was always too cold. _

_ “Do we have to do terms again, lady?” said Dee. “I didn’t know I was sent to the hospital to practice for the goddamn SATs.” _

_ “No,” said the therapist. _

_ The room became uncomfortably silent for several moments as it usually did when she didn’t allow the therapist to ‘teach’ her something. Dee thought filling up time would be a breeze with all of the complaints she had about this shitty place. No such luck. Her ranting always lasted a half hour max. Turned out that in a place full of nothing, the amount of shallow shit to complain about didn’t add up to much. Then it was just her, the therapist, and dead air. _

_ “Fine. What the hell is it?” said Dee.  _

_ “Enablers are people who, whether they know it or not, discourage recovery,” her therapist said. _

_ Great. This again. _

_ “I’m not an alcoholic,” said Dee. _

_ “It doesn’t have to be alcoholism,” said the therapist. “It could be recovery from anything. Depression. Extreme anger. Hurting others.” _

_ Dee huffed a small laugh. “So, everyone in my life is an enabler?” _

_ “Maybe,” the therapist said. _

_ Dee chewed over this thought for a moment. It tasted good. _

_ “So you’re saying that all of my problems are caused by all of the other people in my life?” said Dee. _

_ “Not exactly,” said the therapist.  _

_ Goddammit. _

_ “I feel like you lead me on a lot about this shit,” said Dee. _

_ The therapist crossed her legs. “What do you mean?” _

_ “You make it sound like you agree with me that all of my problems are everyone else’s fault. But then when I get all excited about that, you shoot me down,” said Dee. _

_ “I think we’re having a problem with miscommunication,” said the therapist. “Your issues are your own, but other people can affect the choices you make. Being able to recognize what or who encourages your problems and learning how to deal with it in a healthy way is what I hope to teach you.” _

_ Dee looked down at her hands. The bruises and cuts from two weeks before were fading. Nothing was deep enough to scar, but her skin had always healed slowly. _

_ “Family counts in this whole enabler thing, right?” she said. _

_ “Absolutely,” said the therapist. _

_ “Can the other person be more messed up than you?” asked Dee. _

_ The therapist nodded. “Yes.” _

_ Dee smiled wide, the familiar, youthful joy of tattling lifting her spirits. _

_ “Lemme tell you more about my brother.” _


	5. Day 4 - Dennis, Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is getting. . .long. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks to [golden_goose](archiveofourown.org/users/golden_goose) for being my muse and also my beta. I don't thank you enough :) Also thanks to [Blink_Blue](archiveofourown.org/users/blink_blue) for cheerleading!
> 
> Content warning for drugs and alcohol. Mentions of hospitalization, making light of a suicide attempt.

The worst thing about this house was that it didn’t have a vanity mirror. He seethed as he scrunched his curly hair under the poor lighting of the master bathroom. Too much and there would be frizz; too little and it would stick to his head. 

Chet’s party was sure to be full of rooms too dark to see the light purple shading under his eyes. Even still, Dennis applied a little concealer with his ring finger to even out his skin tone. Why his skin was betraying him like this was a mystery. Dennis got at least five hours of rest a night. Deep sleep, too, from all of the booze. 

It was probably just something to do with dehydration. Alcohol was a natural diuretic. The partying was likely making him dehydrated. Nothing water and a hydrating face mask couldn’t fix. 

He was examining his chin when Dee walked in.  Her body was obscured in the mirror by his own face.

“Are you done preening yet?” she asked. 

Dennis turned his his to inspect his left profile. Perfect as usual. He ruffled his hair again, and turned around.

“Yeah,” he said smiling.

His sister was clad in a little black dress. It was sleeveless and so short that her ass was almost hanging out. Dee’s hair was curled into beachy waves, and her eye makeup was dark and sparkly. A dusting of glitter was on her cheeks. Her lipgloss was shiny. Dee was wearing open-toed heels, which brought her almost eye level with Dennis.

He nodded appreciatively. “Slutty. Nice.”

Dee peeked over his shoulder, and touched her eye makeup. “Is it slutty enough though? I’m not looking to dance any fine lines between classy and trashy tonight.”

She pushed him out of the way of the mirror, turned around, and inspected her ass.

“Trust me, every guy is going to think you’re super easy in this dress,” said Dennis. “Don’t know if open-toed heels were the right choice for your anvil-sized feet though.”

“I don’t know if a polo shirt was the right choice for your douchey face,” she said, pulling up her dress to cover her bra better. 

“Untrue,” said Dennis. He popped his collar. “This shade of blue matches my eyes perfectly.”

Dee rummaged around in her purse. She pulled a bottle of makeup out of her purse, and pushed him away from the mirror. “Whatever. Move. I need to put on some finishing touches.”

His sister squirted some of the shimmery liquid onto her finger, and dabbed at her collarbone. Dennis watched her work as she artfully placed glitter all over her neck and shoulders. 

“You learn to do that in the beauty pageant days?” he said. Dee tucked the makeup back into her purse. She turned on the sink, and washed her hands.

“Mhm,” said Dee. She turned around, and braced herself against the sink. “Alright, I’m ready. You too?”

Dennis moved closer to the mirror again. He scrunched his hair one more time, and dabbed under his eyes to smooth out the concealer more. Then he smiled.

“Yep. Let’s hit the town, sis,” he said.

*

Dee became pale when she approached Chet’s house. Her forehead broke out into a sweat. She leaned against the brick wall and closed her eyes. Willing away a gag. Great.

“Why are you doing that?” said Dennis. “Stop it.”

“There’s a lot of -” she swallowed back a gag again. Disgusting. “A lot of people in there that I might -” she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing again. “Say the wrong thing to when I’m drunk.”

Dennis squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Dee, everybody already knows where you went. It’s the most open secret on the shore.”

She opened her eyes. They were colored dark with disappointment.

“Really?” she said. 

“Really,” said Dennis. “And for what it’s worth, half of the girls we were hanging out with had been in the hospital too. Veronica’s trip to Switzerland is total bullshit. She was in rehab for an oxycontin overdose. Got all sad, tried to off herself, and failed.”

A huge smile broke out on Dee’s face. “Holy shit. What a loser. Where did you hear that?”

He pointed to a douchebag milling around on the lawn. The guy crushed a beer can in his hand, and tossed it into the street. He cheered at his own accomplishment, then wandered away with a slack face.

“Ex-boyfriend. Loose lips when he’s wasted. He had to call the ambulance for her.”

“That’s terrible,” said Dee with unconvincing sympathy. The joy at digging up fresh dirt hadn’t left her eyes or her voice. She watched the guy walk into the house before turning back to Dennis.

“If they all knew, why did you lie for me? I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to put me down,” she said.  

They hinted at it all morning -  _ I heard Dee was in the hospital _ and  _ Your sister is nuts, right?  _ Ears open, ready to pounce on the slightest detail. Each time, his answer -  _ Ireland, Ireland, Ireland. _

Except, it wasn’t that simple. 

_ Ireland was very dangerous _ he said.  _ She fit right in. Did you know their winter games involve lighting people on fire? For warmth, you know. I don’t know if Dee played any of those games, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Gets a little temper when she’s drunk. _

Dennis shrugged. “If nobody messes with you, then I won’t have to deal with you embarrassing both of us if you light someone else on fire again.”

An appealing half-truth. The sense of belonging in the crowd of beautiful people would be too much for Dee to resist. Wild nights nestled in a dull sea of sobriety would fade into patterns of drinking and drugs and not giving a shit if Dennis did the same. The weight of hospitalization would fall off of her shoulders. She’d be herself again.

“Always so nice to feel supported by my loving brother,” said Dee, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go inside. I need a drink,” said Dee.

*

The kaleidoscopic night tumbled around him in dizzying waves. His rumpled clothes stuck to patches of sweat on his body. He snorted another line of cocaine and drank three more beers to stay on an even keel. Dennis was prophetic and statuesque; crowds parted in front of him like the red sea. He thanked his peons for their worship at the top of his lungs, but the music drowned him out. A nameless girl with thin wrists took his dick in the bathroom.

Dee’s glittering body spun in an ellipse around his own. She kissed a man across the room; they snorted cocaine together. Her leg wrapped around a guy’s waist - then, celebratory shots. They did a chugging contest, and Dennis won. She tackled him to the ground. His lips were on a girl’s neck. Young and blonde. Several feet away, Dee was laughing. They danced, close; he stepped on her foot, and she stepped on his. More beer. Someone was vomiting. Her hair was taut in his fist. More shots, more shots, more shots -

*

Home. Four AM. Dee and Dennis sagged into the house like rag dolls, propped up by each other. They tripped up the stairs. Dennis’s foot got caught in a slat, and Dee laughed at him until it got unstuck. Finally, the landing was upon them and shit, shit, shit - had the floor always been so unsteady?

“I don’t think. . .can make. . .attic,” he mumbled. Dee didn’t respond. She headed to her room without looking behind her to see where Dennis was going. Well - he wasn’t staying on the landing. Dennis followed her into her room, and closed the door behind him. She turned around, and gave him a confused look.

“What you doing?” she slurred out. Dennis rubbed at his eye with his palm, and pointed at the bed.

“I’m sleepin in. . .that bed,” he said. Dennis sat down on it, and took off his shoes.

Dee hiccuped through a laugh. “Go to the attic. . .asshole.”

He laid down in the bed. “Nope.”

“Dennis!” she said, glaring at him. He closed his eyes.

His sister sighed. She was strong, but not enough to push him to the floor. 

“Goddammit!” Dee stomped the floor hard in frustration for a few seconds before wearing herself out. She took off her shoes, and threw them forcefully across the room. Then, she sat down on the bed.

“You’re. . .asshole,” she said through a yawn. Dennis ignored her.

She laid down, and made a satisfied noise as her body went limp. Dee’s breathing slowed; she was asleep within seconds. Dennis shifted to get comfortable. Dee’s soft, floral-scented hair fell into his face. 

He didn’t brush it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend singingtomysoul made a comment recently about how Dennis was a little uh shy around crack in season 2 so Dennis doing a lot of coke wasn't ooc but might seem a little out of left field. So just a late disclaimer that if you want a little more context about the sort of mental state that led Dennis to stopping his cocaine use, I'd recommend reading my sister fic "Everybody Loves a Winner." It isn't exactly in the same universe, but it should give you a good idea of the mental state that leads into him quitting.


	6. Day 5 - Dee, Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Coke and alcohol usage. Hospitalization. Heavy medication.
> 
> The story in my word document is encroaching upon being the longest story I've ever written. Kinda hyperventilating about it.

_“Dee. Deee. Deeeeee,” slurred her brother. “Le’s do. . .more shots. Do more shots with me.”_

_His eyes blinked unevenly, and his hair was sticking up at all angles. Dee leaned against a wall, dizzy and tired. The party crowd at Dooley’s house was thinning._

_“Dennis. . .we gotta go home,” she said through a hiccup. Dennis poured the remnants of vodka into a shot glass, tipped it back, and coughed. He shook his head._

_“No no no no no, Dee. I’s just. You ‘n me. We can party all day. All night,” said Dennis._

_He tried to pour the vodka again, and frowned when nothing came out._

_“Where’s more liquor?” he shouted._

_“You drank it,” said Dee._

_He tapped the bottom of the empty bottle like it was ketchup. Dee squinted at the wall clock across the room._

_“I’s 3:30,” she said. “Kickin’ us out soon.”_

_Accepting defeat, Dennis dropped the bottle. “‘S there more liquor at home?”_

_Dee closed her eyes, willing the world to stop spinning. “Yea.”_

_Her brother grabbed her wrist with fumbling hands. “Le’s go!”_

*

Dee had been hoping that Dennis would be awake and gone of his own volition by the time she got out of the shower. Since he liked his beauty rest and had no sense of boundaries, convincing him to leave was a pain. Unfortunately, Dennis was awake, but he was not gone. Even worse, he was rifling through her purse, and throwing items from it onto the floor.

“Hey!” cried Dee. She marched over, towel held up by one hand, and pulled the purse away from him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Dennis popped a mint from a stolen can into his mouth. “I smuggled some coke into your purse last night.

Dee’s mouth dropped open. She looked into her purse. “You what?”

“I know,” said Dennis. “Big mistake. I was too drunk to remember what a black hole your purse is.”

She rummaged around the inside of her bag, and pulled out a baggie of white powder.

“You asshole! I could’ve gotten arrested!”

Dee tossed the baggie of cocaine at his chest. It made a satisfying thunk on impact. He caught it before it fell to the floor. His eyes were hungry as he set the bag in his lap.

“Mhm,” he said, abandoning the conversation to reverently open the bag.

“Are you. . .snorting coke for breakfast?” said Dee as he scooped up some coke with his fingernail.

“I’m hearing a lot of judgement from someone who snorted coke last night,” he said, not looking at her.

“Partying is a _lot_ different than getting high as soon as you wake up,” said Dee.

Dennis held the coke up to his nose, and snorted it. He closed up the bag, and set it on the bed. Then, he wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“I’m not getting high. At this dose, it’s practically coffee,” he said. Dee laughed.

“ _Really?_ ”

A devious smile grew on Dennis’s face. He grabbed the bag of coke again, and held it out towards her. “Wanna try?”

“No!” exclaimed Dee.

Dennis tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

“Are you sure? Feels great. . .”

The longer she was in a towel, the colder she was becoming. Dee wrapped the towel tighter around herself to preserve heat.

“Just get out of my room. I need to get dressed,” she said.

Dennis sighed melodramatically. “Fine. I’m telling you though, this coke is a limited time offer -”   

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m tossing it out the window,” said Dee.

Dennis put his hands up defensively as he walked out. “Okay! Okay! You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

When he crossed the threshold, she shut the door behind him.

What a fucking cokehead.                                               

*

_Three weeks in. New meds. Something (?) to do with hitting (?) someone (?) Asked for it, probably. Memory and reality swirled together before falling away, gaseous and bright._

_Dennis was here._

_“Jesus, you look terrible,” he said. His fingernail scribbled at a leftover streak of purple crayon on the plastic table._

_Dee’s head was heavy. It took her a moment to register that he was talking. Another to realize that it was an insult. A third to find a way to fire back._

_“You’re one to talk with that beer gut,” she said._

_Simple, but effective. Too effective. He frowned at poked at his side._

_“Do I really -” he started to ask. Dee let out a shuddering sigh._

_“Goddammit. Forget I said anything.”_

_He poked at his stomach again. “I’ll ask a nurse on the way out.”_

_“Of course you will,” she muttered._

_Silence followed, punctuated only by Dennis’s incessant scratching at the table. Scratch, scratch, scratch. One long fingernail. The rest bitten to nubs. Red eyes. Scratch, scratch. Pale. Eyes scanned her hair, her body, her face. Scratch, scratch._

_“Did you just come here to insult me?” asked Dee._

_He stopped scratching, and leaned forward. A smile danced around his lips._

_“No. I came to tell you - Becky's out of the hospital from her skin graft. Didn't do a damn thing. Her face still looks like it got melted off.”_

_Three weeks of CBT and heavy drugs couldn't block Dee’s elation at the news._

_“No shit?”_

_Dennis pulled something out of his pocket, and handed it to her under the table. Thin, square, and smooth - a kodak picture. Dee looked at it and, oh - there she was. The photograph was taken from a distance, but the damage was clear._

_“How did you get this in here?” said Dee in hushed tones._

_“Told them it was art,” said Dennis, grinning._

_Dee ran her thumb over Becky’s damaged body. “You weren’t lying.”_

_Her brother grabbed her hand, looking serious now._

_“Good job, sis. That bitch had it coming.”_

_Later, the picture would get confiscated._

_She wouldn’t remember this._

_*_

Fat clouds roamed through the sky, periodically blocking out the sun. Dee was warmed by tequila and an extra towel draped over her shoulders. It wasn’t a great beach day, but like hell was she passing up an opportunity to wear a bikini. The way men stared a little too long at her body - priceless.

“You planning on being a homewrecker?” asked Dennis after she batted her eyes at a married man. Dee let out a short laugh.

“No. It’s just fun when they look,” said Dee.

Dennis took another swig of his tequila sunblock. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Tease,” he said.

Dee shrugged. “Whatever. Feels good.”

Her brother looked out towards the water. Green and blue crumpled into white as the waves rolled onto the shore. Blonde children were giggling as they ran in and out of the waves.

“They look kind of like us when we were kids,” said Dennis. Dee turned her head to look.

“Oh yeah. Missing parents and everything,” said Dee.

Dennis laughed. The children started to chase each other.

“You think their parents are fucked up?” he asked.

Dee drank her tequila, and watched as the children zig-zagged around the beach. The boy’s smile turned into a frown when his sister started to outrun him. He ran faster, turned a sharp corner so he was facing her, and pushed her to the ground. The girl didn’t cry. Instead, she grabbed sand, and threw it at her brother’s face. Dee smiled with vicarious triumph.

“Definitely,” said Dee. “That boy’s an asshole just like you.”

The girl laughed as her brother wiped sand out of his eyes. Then, she got up, and pushed him to the ground.

“Are you kidding me? He’s the asshole? That girl is a total bitch,” said Dennis.

Dee shook her head. “It’s not bitchy if he deserved it.”

“Like I deserved it when you clawed a scar into my scalp?” said Dennis, side-eyeing her.

She smiled. “Exactly like that.”

It started to drizzle. Dee wrinkled her nose.

“Ah, shit. Rain.”

Irritated beachgoers packed up, and headed for their cars or boardwalk shops. Dennis turned his head to look at which shops were nearby. Probably was too drunk to remember where they sat down.

“Boardwalk?” he asked.

“Boardwalk,” said Dee with a nod.

*

The shop where they took cover was a kitch store full of tourists. They lumbered around, sweat and rain intermingled on their exposed bodies. A singing fish was staring at Dee as she got her hair braided. Children pressed its button, and ran away giggling. The only song it knew was “Can’t Help Falling in Love With You.” By the fifth time it played, Dee was daydreaming about travelling back in time to murder Elvis. Seven, ten, fifteen. Goddamn, some of these children should have been aborted. A red-headed child with a runny nose sneezed on his friend and laughed. Disgusting.

“Ouch!” said Dee as pain shot through her scalp. The hair braider loosened her grip.

“Sorry,” she said.

“You’d better be,” said Dee. “I didn’t pay you to rip my scalp off.”

The hair braider grabbed a purple bead, and threaded it into Dee’s hair.

“I promise. This is gonna turn out great,” she said.

Dee popped some cheap kettle corn into her mouth. “Mhm.”

Her brother had disappeared into the shop when she decided to get her hair done. Hunting for party girls to bang in a dressing room. Disgusting, but reliably effective. Rainy days and kitsch shops were like catnip to crazy girls on two-day vacations. They’d come in looking for bikinis and shot glasses. Then, they’d leave to go get wasted in a rental house. Lower quality booze, drugs, and men than with the rich crowd, but it was a fun change of scenery.

Dennis wobbled out of the sea of people, looking dazed. There was a lipstick mark on his neck. He gave her a thumbs up as he walked over.

“You score?” said Dee. She ate another piece of popcorn. Dennis, of course, helped himself to hers. So much for insisting that it was too many calories to buy his own. He sat on the seat next to her.

“Address is right here,” he said, showing her his left palm.

“That’s close to Chet's house,” said Dee, surprised. “How did you find someone that classy in a shit place like this?”

Dennis shook his head. “I didn’t. It’s her friend’s cousin’s house.” He laughed to himself. “She was real trash, this one. Had a tramp stamp that said ‘sweetheart.’”

“How far did you have to go with her to get us invited?” said Dee. The hair braider paused.

“Did you have sex in the store?” she asked.

Dennis pondered this question for a moment. “Not technically? I mean we only -”

The hair braider sighed and continued her work. “Never mind. I don’t need details. They don’t pay me enough to give a shit.”

Dennis leaned over to say in Dee’s ear, “Told her I wanted her to be my girlfriend after she gave me a blowjob.”

“Damn, you found a girl with zero self-respect. I’m impressed,” said Dee. Dennis grinned.

“Yeah. It was awesome.”

Another child came up and slammed on the fish’s button. He ran away laughing.

_WIIIISE MENNNN SAYYYY ONLY FOOOOOOLS RUSH INNNNN_

“Goddammit!” yelled Dee. She slammed her fist on the table behind her. It rattled the beads in the hair braider’s cup. “All day! I hate kids!”

“Easy, sis,” said Dennis, chuckling.

“How do you manage working in this store on a dry beach?” said Dee to the hair braider.

“Tequila in a sunscreen bottle,” she replied.

“Classic,” said Dennis, nodding his head. Then, he reached out to Dee, and touched one of her braids. “Damn. This is some nice handiwork.” He gave a skeezy smile to the woman doing her hair.

Before the braider could respond, Dee said, “You just got blown. Can you hold off on hitting on another girl for five minutes?”

“Fine, fine,” said Dennis. He turned his attention back to her braids, combing his fingers through them so the beads clicked against each other. Click, clack.

“You look good with these,” he said softly. “Like that model. Bo Derek.”

No insult followed.

“Really?” said Dee. “Not. . .’except your big man hands’ or ‘besides your bird face?’”

Dennis shook his head, still absorbed with her braids. “No.”

Goddamn the small, sick part of her that glowed at the compliment.

“Thanks, Dennis,” trying to sound as aloof as possible. Judging by the way his face lit up, her effort didn’t work at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dee: some people???? light their roommate on fire??? to cope????  
> Dennis: ur valid and I support u
> 
> I love them that is all.


	7. Day 5 - Dennis, Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the #fakenews of posting a couple of days ago and taking it down. This chapter needed a few superficial edits. All of the plot stuff is the same, but the first section is prettier and has more god-complex stuff.

“We have to go on that,” said Dee as she stopped abruptly. Dennis turned to see what she was looking at. The fifty-foot ferris wheel flashed red, blue, and white as it turned and turned and turned. It drenched his senses with its magnitude. He needed to be on top, and he needed it now.

“Definitely,” said Dennis.

They passed sunblock tequila back and forth as they waited in line. By the time they were at the front, the bottle was empty. Dee shoved it into her purse, and burped.

“Thank god that’s gone,” she said as she put her bag down into the designated area. “Didn’t want it spilling in my purse.”

“Gucci, right?” said Dennis absentmindedly as they sat down.

“Mhm,” said Dee. She pulled down the bar to lock them in. “Jesus, I’m glad to not be doing this in that awful brace. Always thought I’d fall out.”

The ferris wheel went up, up, up as other passengers loaded. Soon, they were dangling on top. The moon and stars were hidden by clouds and yellow light. Tonight, the sky was infinite.

Dennis looked down, appreciating the view. It was a vantage point fit for a God. Here, all of his minions looked as insignificant as they were. He held out his hand, obscuring a crowd. If he pressed down, he could crush all of them like a colony of ants.

His sister laughed, jolting him from his reverie. “Look at that stupid kid. Got off the tilt-a-whirl and puked. What an idiot!”

Dennis huffed out a laugh. “All of those people are idiots.” He scanned the crowd for an example, and wrinkled his nose at what he found. “That woman just dropped her ice cream, picked it up, and ate it.”

“Gross!” said Dee, grinning. They jolted down as more passengers loaded. Jolt, jolt, jolt. The people beneath them got larger. Disappointing.

“How many cycles does this thing have?” said Dennis.

“Three, I think,” said Dee. She dangled her feet as she looked down at the ground. “You’d think they’d hurry up with loading since the ride isn’t very long.”

The momentary joy at mocking strangers was evaporating from her face. Fast replacing it was anger as familiar to Dennis as his own skin.

“Their boss is probably some junkie carnie shooting up behind the circus tent,” said Dennis as they jolted down again.

Dee glared at the teenage workers locking people into their seats. “No supervision. They’re probably headed down the same path.”

Dennis nodded. The lower they got to the ground, the more irritated he was becoming. “Someone should step up before it’s too late.”

Jolt, jolt, jolt.

“Hey assholes!” yelled Dee. “Hurry up down there!”

To Dennis’s surprise, the ride started. He broke out into a grin.

“Holy shit. It worked!”

Dee beamed.

*

The party was a blur of drinking, coke, sweat, and tits. Dennis danced with girls, on girls, inside of girls. Someone elbowed Dee in the eye; she threw a drink in his face. A kegstand - everyone cheered. He shouted to the music until his throat hurt. Dee was there and gone, there and gone, laughing, kissing, sweat-coated from fucking. She shouted about men; he couldn’t hear her. Jello shots, margaritas, starburst, starburst, tequila. Blonde women in his peripheral vision - his sister, strangers. Puking in the grass. More shots. It was night; it was morning; it didn’t matter -

*

Vodka still flooded their systems when they tumbled into the house, laughing too much to breathe. They crept up the stairs with soft footsteps, as though quiet feet would cancel out their laughter. Not that silence mattered - dad hadn’t been back to the house in days, and mom was surely dead asleep.

Parts of Dee brushed against Dennis - a hand, a leg. Her beaded braids clacked against each other with each step. She walked with a straight spine and head held high.

Click clack. Click clack.

“You look better,” said Dennis. He hiccuped. “Without the um. The metal thingy.”

“My brace?” asked Dee.

“Yeah,” said Dennis. Dee smiled, wry.

“I know,” she said.

Her hair was really long, even braided up. She swept it over her shoulders. The sleeveless dress she wore exposed her back. Dee’s skin looked so soft -

“Do you exfoliate your back?”

Dee stopped walking, and gave him a confused look.

“How drunk are you?” she said.

Dennis wanted to press further on the matter, but then, abruptly, he lost his balance. Gripping to the stairwell like a vice, he said, “How drunk are _you_?”

She leaned on the wall when they got to the landing, and put her palm over her face.

“Pretty fucking drunk,” she said. Then, she started giggling again. Dennis smiled. He slumped on the wall next to her. Bile rose in his throat; he swallowed it down.

“That party was awesome,” said Dennis.

“God, I know,” said Dee. She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes, usually sharp, were muted by alcohol. “Sobriety sucked, Dennis.”

A flake of mascara fell onto her cheek. She brushed it away with her index finger. Her lipstick was uneven. His sister had always struggled to re-apply it correctly when she was drunk. Dee’s face blurred; he blinked, and she came back into focus. Eyes, mouth, nose, braids. Click, clack.

Her breath was hot on his face. Dennis gave a shaky sigh, re-orienting himself.

“I don’t know why you decided to listen to that weird therapist. She. . .clearly had a stick up her ass,” said Dennis. He burped - bile again.

“I don’t know either,” she said. Then, she squeezed her eyes tight. “Fuck. The world is spinning. Maybe that’s why.”

Dee was spinning; she had fallen into his orbit this week, tonight with ease. Two of them locked together again like they always had and always would be. She wanted, _they_ wanted.

If he wasn't so drunk. . .he’d tell her something, show her something -

But the thoughts fractured in his mind.

What he meant was something more complex. What he said was, “I love you, Dee.”

And he kissed her.

Dee’s mouth was sticky from sweet drinks. Somewhere, distantly, a siren was blaring in his mind. But then his tongue, her breasts -

She pulled away, and his mistake reflected back at him in her horrified face.

“What the fuck?” she said.

Dennis ran his hand over his face.

“No, Dee, I can explain -"

She cut him off. The words wouldn’t have come anyway.

“Is that why you’ve been spending time with me?” said Dee, her voice shaking. “Because you wanted to fuck me?”

“No, I -”

She pushed him into the wall, and he hit his head.

“Ow!”

“If you ever try that again, I will burn you like the last bitch who crossed me,” she said.

His breathing was heavy, choked. She stormed away.

What he wanted to say was an excuse. What he said was, “You're a goddamn bitch!”

She paused, and clenched her fists. After a moment, she stood up straighter, opened the door, and closed it softly.

Then, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get rekt Dennis Reynolds.


	8. Day 6 - Dee, Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this plot has a beginning, middle, and end but I'm not entirely sure the exact number of chapters so that's why the '12' has turned into a question mark.
> 
> CW for dissociation and victim blaming.
> 
> This is officially the longest story I have ever written. Kind of bowled over about it.

Dee woke with a brain that, for a moment, was as clean and blank as a starched white apron. She yawned, and stretched her arms behind her. Rolling her neck and shoulders produced crackling noises; tension leaked out of her pores. She looked over at her clock - ten AM.

The house was quiet. Dee sat up, and rubbed her eyes. Jesus. Her hand _ached_.

Like spilled milk, a memory leached into her mind.

_Dee was dizzy-drunk and giggly. Her brother, too, was unsteady from inebriation._

_“That party was awesome,” he said as he slumped next to her on the wall._

_It was true; the party had been packed with wall to wall beefcakes and liquor flowing like a river. Five phone numbers were tucked into her bra._

_“God, I know,” she said as she looked over at him. “Sobriety sucked, Dennis.”_

_Dennis was gazing at her mouth in a way she could tell was critical. Her lipstick, she knew, was crooked from post-kiss reapplication. She braced herself for the impact of an insult._

_“I don’t know why you decided to listen to that weird therapist. She. . .clearly had a stick up her ass,” he said. Then, he burped. No insult. Huh._

_“I don’t know either,” she said unsteadily. The world started to spin. She squeezed her eyes tight. “Fuck, the world is spinning. Maybe that’s why.”_

_When she opened her eyes again, he was looking at her with an expression akin to revelation. The skin on her face became tight. He leaned in, and -_

_“I love you, Dee.”_

_His mouth was on hers. Chapped lips, hot breath, probing tongue, wandering hands. Bile rose in Dee’s throat; she pushed him away before she threw up in her own mouth - or his._

_“What the fuck?” she said._

_A look of regret flashed on his face before he ran his hand over it. Good._

_“No, Dee, I can explain.”_

_That perverted son of a bitch. She should have known -_

_“Is that why you’ve been spending time with me?” said Dee, her voice shaking. “Because you wanted to fuck me?”_

_“No, I -”_

_She pushed him into the wall in blind rage._

_“Ow!” he cried. God, that was satisfying._

_“If you ever try that again, I will burn you like the last bitch who crossed me,” she threatened._

_His only response was heavy breathing. She marched away with a sense of satisfaction. But, of course, Dennis had to try to get in the last word._

_“You’re a goddamn bitch!”_

_She could cut him with words, punch him, claw at his face. Dee could make him bleed, and would feel no regret. But Dee knew Dennis better than anyone, and none of that was enough. So, she clenched her fists, stood up straight, and did what would hurt him the most. She walked away._

_After she closed the door, she punched the wall as hard as she could._

Dee flexed her fingers. The knuckles on her right hand were red. Fuck - why did she have to use her dominant hand to punch the goddamn wall? Stupid tequila. God, her head hurt. She needed -

Her Depakote stared her down from across the room. She hadn’t taken it since Sunday’s hangover had put her on her ass. Dee laid back down; her shitty mood washed over her like the cyclic tide. It was always worse in the morning, before. Back to square one. She closed her eyes, willing her anger away.

_Lips, hands, breath, beer, push, yell, pain._

Dee’s eyes snapped open, and she slammed her fists down on the bed. Incoherent thoughts buzzed in her head like bees. Her roommate, Dennis, Mom, Dad, shitty sex, terrible parties, anxiety, anxiety, anxiety. With the help of her hands, the room started to tear itself apart. It flung clothes out of the drawer and the laundry basket onto the floor. Then the drawers were flung out of the dresser itself; one of them broke in half. A mirror - _Dennis_ \- shattered. Lipsticks and foundation and eyeliner spilled onto the floor. The room echoed an animalistic, continuous scream. Depakote rolled onto the floor; the room crushed it into powder. The room crumpled around Dee like tissue paper, colorful decorative trash, all of it.

A bottle of beer rolled out from under the bed. Screw- cap. The room remembered itself, and became inanimate once more.

She sat down in the piles of glass, wood, clothes and powders. The beer hissed when it opened. A friendly snake. Dee took a sip, and then another.

Dennis wasn’t going to get away with this. She was going to hit him where it hurt.

His dick.

*

_Ten-o-clock. Jimmy’s house. Somewhere between tipsy and drunk. Dee was sitting on the couch, assessing the lay of the land. Her back brace was off for the night. She was uncaged, but achy. A girl came up to her - young, blonde. She was rubbing her arm, and biting her lip._

_“Are you Dee Reynolds?”_

_“Yep,” said Dee._

_The girl gave off a shuddering sigh. “Can we talk in private?”_

_Dee narrowed her eyes. “Why?”_

_“I don’t want to say it here,” said the girl, shifting her eyes around the room. Dee sighed._

_“Fine. But this had better not take very long,” she said._

_They gathered together in a coat closet. It was hot and tight. The girl smelled like sweat and beer. She opened her mouth to speak, but could only make out, “I-” before bursting into tears. Dee rubbed her temples as the girl sobbed. Goddammit - not this again._

_“Is this about my asshole brother?” she said._

_The girl nodded, tears still flowing down her face._

_“I didn’t know where to go. I just - I feel - he -”_

_“You gotta stop crying and spit it out,” said Dee. “What did he do?”_

_“I’m so confused,” said the girl as she wiped her tears away. “I was just. . .so drunk. So I’m thinking, well maybe it was just drunk sex, you know? But I feel so bad. . .and he won’t answer the phone. . .”_

_“What does this have to do with me?” said Dee._

_“I was thinking maybe you could talk to him. About what happened. Since you’re his twin and stuff,” the girl said._

_Goddamn, this was annoying. Any girl dumb enough to fall for Dennis's shit deserved what she got. Survival of the fittest._

_“I don’t get what there is to talk about. Dennis is a creep. You should have known better.”_

_The girl burst into tears again._

_“Is my part in this done now?” said Dee. “We’re burning moonlight.”_

_Before the girl could answer, Dee left the closet._

_What a goddamn crybaby._

*

Dennis was already downstairs drinking coffee when she came down for her own. He was unshowered, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. Her heart pounded with anger at the sight of him, but she kept a poker face. It was imperative for him to be lured into a false sense of complacency. Dee could pull the strings in the shadows longer if he thought nothing was wrong. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the couch next to him. His body tensed, just a little.

“Hey, Dee,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and the bags under his eyes were dark. Must’ve thrown a temper tantrum after she went to bed. Pathetic.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing the remote. Dee flipped the TV to Good Morning America, and took a sip of her coffee. She wrinkled her nose. “Why did you make this so strong?”

Dennis took a long sip of his coffee. “Hungover. Blacked out last night.”

“Me too,” said Dee. The tightness in Dennis’s shoulders dissipated.

“Really?” he said.

“Mhm,” said Dee with her face half-obscured by her cup.

Dennis smiled. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Dee pretended to search through her memories for a moment.

“Jello shots,” she said.

Her brother nodded thoughtfully.

“Should have known. You’re such a lightweight.”

Dee took another sip of her coffee. “How about you?”

“Banged some girl. Red hair. A ten,” he said. The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. If she was anyone else, she’d buy it.  

Just like Dennis to underestimate her.

“There were no tens at that party,” said Dee. “You must have been really wasted.”

He shrugged. “I told you I blacked out.”

_Coming up next: eggs - fatty fiend or healthy friend?_

“What are your plans for today?” said Dee.

“Not sure,” said Dennis. “I thought Veronica was supposed to have a party today, but she told me over the phone that it was called off.”

Dee took a long sip of her coffee. “Huh, weird. When I called, she told me the party was still on.” She finished her coffee, and put the cup in the sink.

“Maybe she just made a mistake,” said Dennis. “You think I should call again?”

“Sure,” said Dee as she walked away, barely concealing a smile. “Can’t hurt to ask.”


	9. Day 6 - Dennis, Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took a month to get out. I got kinda busy with life and then I needed a palate cleanser project to re-orient myself. Also, I got a tumblr account, so I have a new and exciting way to waste my time. I'm at speciesinfluenzae and none of my content is good but you can follow me anyway if you want.
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for dissociation, intense drunkenness, and really weird sex with a stranger that I'm not sure qualifies as an incest content warning? But I'm tacking it on anyway.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos & subscribes! They warm my heart, each and every one!

“What do you mean I’m not allowed in?” cried Dennis. Night had come to Ocean City, but the heat was still unbearable. His skin was coated with sweat – hopefully it glistened.

Veronica folded her thin arms, and glared at him. “I mean you’re not allowed in.”

Dennis ran his fingers through his wet hair. He gripped it tightly. “Why?”

“Because,” said Veronica, digging her nails into her skin. “I don’t need my house to be known as rape central.”

“The fuck? I’m not a rapist!” he yelled.

Veronica’s eyes widened. She looked to her right and then to her left. “Shh!”

“Don’t silence me, you bitch!” said Dennis, pointing his finger in her face. It shook with rage.

“This is my house. I can do whatever I want,” she said.

Dennis stomped his foot once, twice. “I don’t care where you are! You can’t just. . .go around calling people rapists! Banning them from parties, and shunning them, I am a _legend_ –”

“Dennis,” said Veronica in a chilling voice. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call the police.”

His mind raced. What happened? He had been so cool only days before and now –

“It was my sister, wasn’t it?” he said, looking at the ground. His fists clenched. “That vindictive bitch. Where is she? Bring her to me!”

He looked back up at Veronica. She turned around, and said, “The station is close by, so you’d better run.”

Then, she slammed the door behind her.

*

Ocean City’s lights blurred as he slumped down in the back of the cab, struck by dizziness, sick. His stomach lurched as the cab driver hit a speed bump. Dennis fumbled for the window crank, and rolled it down. No cool air awaited him. The night was humid and loud and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -

“Turn it down!” he yelled at the cab driver. “I can’t think with all of this noise.”

“The radio isn’t on,” said the driver.

Dennis rubbed his temples. The radio – maybe it would tune everything out. “Turn it on, then.”

“I’m confused. Do you want the radio on or off?” said the driver.

Wind blew his hair this way and that, messing up his perfect coif. It cut against the sweat covering his body; he winced and rolled the window up.

“Just figure it out,” said Dennis through clenched teeth.

The cab driver turned the radio on. It was tuned to white noise. Before the driver could change it, Dennis said, “Leave it.”

“You sure?” said the driver. He looked in the mirror with concerned eyes. Dennis gritted his teeth. His chest and throat ached.

“Fuck off,” he said.

The crowds got thicker as they approached the street full of shitty dives. His heart rate sped up – excitement, arousal. Dennis’s hands started to shake; he needed to get out of the car. A wealth of minions were waiting to worship him, and the only barrier was the car door. Fresh sweat dripped down his forehead – when had the cab become so hot? Neon signs and chatter, chatter, chatter as pretty heels and big titties swayed down the street.

“$30,” said the driver. Dennis handed him $30 exactly.

“No tip,” said Dennis. “That ride was terrible.”

He slammed the door behind him, and headed into the bar.

*

Alcohol haze ghosted over his brain. He leaned on the bar, and sipped his fifth (?) beer. So many dumpy girls in this bar. As they passed by, he rated their attractiveness: 5, 2, 3, 4, 1. Jersey Shore rule: 6+ at night. Surely these were all the ugly, fat friends of some attractive woman somewhere. Another 3 walked past him. He scowled at her, and downed the rest of his beer.

The crowd parted and – ah – there she was. Young and blonde in a tight dress and stilettos. Her face shimmered with glitter makeup. She turned, and saw him looking at her. A smile appeared on her face. The girl walked over to him; his heart sped up. He willed the sweat that he’d sopped up in the bathroom to stay put – why the heat was on in this bar was anyone’s guess.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he said.

“Sure,” she said. “A margarita would be nice.”

Dennis snapped his fingers at the bartender. “Two margaritas for me. . .and the lady.”

The girl giggled. She batted her blue eyes flirtatiously. “My name is Rachel.”

He covered her hand in his own. It was warm against his humming skin. “Dennis.”

*

Six drinks, seven drinks, eight drinks and then in a cab, going home, tongue, tongue, tits. Her mouth was sticky against his chin. His house, no tip, (terrible ride, loud, loud, loud), then in the door and upstairs, hand in hand. Blonde hair and she smelled like flowers, her back was straight and her heels were off. When did they come off? They were on the landing and her lips tasted like candy.

Dee’s bedroom was open. She wasn’t inside. Heart pounded and hand clenched on the girl’s and fuck Dee, this would show her! Fuck Dee fuck Dee fuck Dee fuck Dee fuck fuck fuck! He pushed, bedroom, then on the bed and her dress on the floor and oh god, her mascara, it was flaking and her lipstick was crooked and why was she like this? This wasn’t supposed to happen! Sweat pooled in his eyes, he always got so hot during sex, it was so hot everywhere.

“Are you okay?” said the girl.

“Turn over,” said a hoarse voice. Then his dick inside, heat, so much heat, and tight, there was sweat on his face because they were beautiful. Not enough air and his skin hurt, ram, ram, ram, and she was small and blonde and under him and gasping.

“I’ve never done this before,” said the girl.

Fist full of hair, tug, no answer. Eyes squeezed tight and did girls ever shut up? Women shouldn’t have been given mouths and when Dennis replaced God he’d take them all away first thing. Chest hurt and tight balls and hard dick and squish, squish in her wet pussy. Jolt of precum and skyrocketing heart rate and then, fuck, oh god –

Filled her up, cried out, pulled out, breathe, breathe, breathe. Girl got up to pee and she shouldn’t come back so she wouldn’t come back and he locked the door. Everywhere, everything wet. Rolled on the bed and out of his cum. Then, black, and dreams of glitter and flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I'm not sure if this fic is almost done or not? Originally they were supposed to be at the shore for ten days, but I might shorten it.
> 
> Anyone listen to that new The Front Bottoms album, Going Grey? Cos Vacation Town is a beach house living song, I swear to god.
> 
> (I realize there's a high chance that all of my readers listen to something called "good music" instead but I just thought I'd ask.)


	10. Day 7 - Dee, Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for very graphic imagery involving burning another human being with a lighter in the first section of this chapter. Also, Dee is physically restrained over a psychiatric emergency. This is literally a nightmare and it is designed to be disturbing. If you are triggered by this, skip past the italics at the beginning of the chapter. Other than that, blanket warnings still apply.

_Breath heavy, stairs. Dizzy and there was burning in her throat. Dark and she almost fell but she caught herself on the railing. Then she was on the landing and her apartment was down the hall, 404444444444444. So far, double distance, but she was there and her key slotted in, jangle jangle, crack! Her back fell against the door to close and it was loud. Lights were on and there, faceless, red hair – Becky. Jagged and she glowed and her clothes, Dee’s clothes, and the burn fell to her heart and got stuck._

_“Why you still awake?” fell out._

_Shaky breath like Dee’s legs and she walked forward. Arms folded and her face, faceless._

_“You can’t do this anymore,” no-mouth said. The room, jagged. Bright._

_“Wha?” Tasted bitter._

_“Wearing my clothes. Coming home wasted. I’m sick of it.”_

_Polyester clung and itched._

_“They’re my clothes.”_

_Clenched fingers and more jagged. “No, they’re not. You’ve been stealing them.”_

_Slump down and said, “They’re mine. Been copying me.”_

_Everything orange and everything burned. Her skin, didn’t Becky feel it? She was hot and Becky didn’t feel it, she copied her but not that part!_

_“Fuck. I can’t – you. . .there’s something wrong with you.”_

_Heart sped up and burned. “The fuck. . .you just say?”_

_“You need serious help.”_

_So hot, white hot. Becky didn’t feel a thing. Her face, where was her face? Goddammit! Hands on her chest and Becky, shrieking._

_“You bitch! You goddamn bitch!”_

_The room was on fire but Becky wasn’t melting. A lighter from her pocket and her fist clenched Becky’s collar. Her skull had a face!_

_Becky tugged and screamed and fuck, she was free, the cordless phone and ran to her room, slammed the door, lock. Fuck! Dee pounded and yanked at door. Yelling, no words. Thin walls._

_“You need to come to my apartment. 350 4 th Street, 4th floor. My roommate – she’s chasing me. . .I think she’s lost her mind. . .she’s drunk –” _

_Door opened and white light._

_“You bitch! You goddamn bitch!”_

_Becky to the floor. Light of flame._

_Hold one, burn, lift, two, burn, lift, three, burn, lift, four, burn, lift, five, burn, lift, sixburnliftsevenburnlifteightburnliftnineburnliftTENBURNLIFTELEVENBURNLIFTTWELVEBURNLIFTTHIRTEENBURNLIFTFOURTEENBURNLIFTFIFTEENBURNLIFT RED RED RED RED RED BLACK BLACK BLACK BLACK REDBLACREDBLACKREDBLACK –_

_Push! And tumble and crawl under the bed screaming, screaming! Whose? Stumble and run, mattress, burn, light, won’t light AHHHHHHHHHH!_

_Then bang, crash, feet, men and Dee was on the ground and the screaming, the screaming was hers._

_“GET OFF!” but too heavy, couldn’t breathe and head pressed down, restrained. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NONONO O NOOO. So dizzy, lifted to feet and fuck, burning in her heart, on her shirt, her shoes, the ground. She spat they pulled and towards the door away, away._

_“YOU BITCHES!” cough. “YOU SONS OF BITCHES!”_

_Down, down, down the stairs, feet uneven, her carried and then out, cold air and her nude stomach and all of her was nude and there was the white machine and inside and then the prick in her arm and gone –_

Dee’s eyes snapped open. Her chest was heaving, and her fists were clenched. The dream throbbed in her mind, heavy like a heartbeat. She assessed her surroundings to ground herself. Blue walls, a bed that wasn’t hers, and a man she didn’t know, sleeping beside her. Dee groaned, and flung her arm over her face. Goddammit, it had been a long time since she’d had that nightmare.

The man next to her stirred. Fuck, she needed to get out of here before he got any ideas. Dee slid out of bed, shoved on her clothes, and ran out the door to do her walk of shame.

*

The boardwalk was desolate this early in the morning. Weak sunshine peeked over the horizon, illuminating a couple of surfers waiting for waves. A bout of dizziness struck Dee; she sat down on the closest bench to steady herself. Her thong pinched the inside of her ass, and she winced. Whoever invented thongs was a pervert and a sadist.

No doubt Dennis was on a walk of shame too. He’d probably gone to some skeevy bar and picked up jailbait. Revenge always came with collateral damage. Hopefully he’d get home before her so she could rub her good time into his face. Honestly, he was too easy.

Dee rested her face in her hands. She was supposed to feel triumphant right now. Instead, revenge had left her cold. Disgust and fury stuck to her skin like the sweat from the night before.

_“I love you, Dee.”_

She dug her nails into her forehead. Such bullshit. Like she’d ever believe Dennis loved anyone but himself. Dee rose from the bench, wobbly. She needed to get home before the entire shore saw her walk of shame.

*

Her door was locked. Oh no. _No._ Dee knocked frantically on the door, praying that nobody would answer.

“Go away,” groaned Dennis. Goddammit!

“Dennis, you son of a bitch, open this door right now!” shouted Dee. Dennis moaned in response.

“Cab fare’s in the hall,” he said. Dee looked down; a $100 bill was poking out the door. Dee yanked on the handle as the world turned red around her.

“This is your sister, cocksucker!” she said. “Open the fucking door!”

He didn’t need to. The shitty lock broke. She swung into the room, tripping over her own feet on the way. Dennis was in her bed with his eyes shut tight. Dee marched over, seething. She ripped the blanket off his body to see the damage. Her brother’s eyes snapped open, and he inspected the crime scene around him. White spot near his ass, and a wet pillow – tears. Then, he looked back up at his sister; clarity lit up his eyes.

“Morning, sis,” he said, smiling.

Dee clenched her fists, mind racing through every option for retribution. She could try to hurt him, but she’d probably end up getting hurt herself. Public humiliation apparently ended up with this disgusting garbage. She could try to destroy his things, but vacation stuff wasn’t worth much. Except. . .oh. _Oh._

“You _son of a bitch_. I am going to destroy you.”

She ran out of the room, stopping when she reached the attic handle. Dee yanked it down – kaTHUNK – and climbed up the ladder. Heavy feet chased after her.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dennis called. Before he could get inside, she pulled the ladder up, and closed the door. Hopefully it would slow him down enough that she could dig up his precious cargo. She scanned the room looking for hiding places, and found only the dresser and his suitcase under the bed. Dresser was too obvious – had to be in the suitcase.

Dee dove down to the ground, and pulled the suitcase out. She rifled through clothes, hairspray, porno magazines until – aha! A baggie of his precious cocaine. She swung the door open and ran down the ladder. When Dennis saw what she had in her hand, his eyes widened.

“What the fuck are you doing with that?”

“What I should have done days ago, you son of a bitch,” said Dee, heaving heavy breaths. She ran towards the bathroom, and he chased after her. Dee skidded to a halt to the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. Dennis banged frantically on the door.

“Open up!” he shouted. Dee opened the toilet bowl, and dropped the baggie inside.

“Go to hell!” she said. Then, she flushed the toilet.

Dennis jiggled the handle, but it was unnecessary. Dee opened the door with a devious smile. Her brother ran inside and looked in the sink, the empty trash, the bathtub and then – the toilet.

“You didn’t,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Oh, I did,” said Dee.

Dennis shook his head in disbelief, and fell to his knees. “That cost $400.”

“Good,” said Dee, walking towards the door. “Don’t fuck with me again.”

She locked the door again, and closed it behind her. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the stairs that she heard him banging on the door.

*

_The night was chilly, but Dee was warm from alcohol and the body heat of the people around her. She and Dennis were sitting on someone’s couch together, steadily getting wasted. Dennis poured himself a shot of vodka, and downed it. Dee held out her own shot glass._

_“Hit me again!” she slurred. Dennis poured her another, and she drank it all. It didn’t sting; her throat was numb to alcohol nowadays._

_“That’s the good stuff,” said Dee. Dennis nodded as he looked at the bottle._

_“No shit. That dude you banged was down in two shots.” Dennis took a swig from the bottle. “Way out of your league, otherwise.”_

_“Bullshit. I look great tonight.” Dee grabbed the bottle from her brother, and took a swig herself._

_Dennis looked her up and down, considering her claim._

_“The dress you’re wearing does make you look less gangly than usual.”_

_“Gee, thanks,” said Dee, deadpan. She took another drink from the bottle, and sat it down on the table. Then, she closed her eyes. “God, being drunk is so awesome. Why is anyone ever sober?”_

_Dennis huffed out a laugh. “I dunno. Idiots, all of them.”_

_The bottle clinked as he lifted it from the coffee table. Slosh, slosh as he took another drink. Dee smiled._

_“You know who’s the worst idiot of all?” she said as she opened her eyes._

_Dennis shook his head. “Who?”_

_“Becky,” said Dee. She took the bottle from Dennis, and drank from it again._

_“Oh, shit, absolutely. That bitch is the worst,” said Dennis._

_“Every day now – ‘Dee, why are you home so late?’ ‘Dee, stop screaming in the house!’ ‘Dee, you’re too loud when you have sex in the apartment!’ ‘Dee, I’m kind of worried about you!’ I mean, goddammit! You’d think she’d lay off of someone who just got kicked out of school,” said Dee._

_Dennis scoffed. “Some people have no empathy.”_

_He took the bottle from Dee and drank and drank until he finished it off. Then, he dropped it on the floor, and kicked it away. Dee smiled._

_“Don’t act like you give a shit about that. You just hate that she wouldn’t go out with you.”_

_“That’s just another example,” said Dennis. “She didn’t empathize with my desire to bang her.”_

_Dee nodded slowly, mulling over Becky’s collective bullshit._

_“Someone ought to teach her a lesson,” said Dee._

_Dennis nodded. “Definitely.”_

_He pulled out a packet of smokes and a lighter from his pocket, and shook a cigarette out for himself. Dee held out her hand._

_“Gimme,” said Dee._

_Dennis glared at her. “One day you’re going to have to buy your own.”_

_“Whatever,” Dee said as she grabbed the packet off of his lap. She took out a cigarette for herself. “Hand me the lighter, boner.”_

_Dennis lit up his own cigarette before he handed over the lighter. It was still warm from its time in his pocket. She flicked on the lighter, and stared into the flame._

_“Thanks.”_


	11. Day 7 - Dennis, Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I basically realized after messing with it for a REALLY LONG TIME that something I was writing just. . .wasn't working because it was from the wrong perspective. Honestly, this bit is just kind of a contextual interlude so sorry that it's so short!
> 
> Thanks to all subscribers who I'm sure thought this fic was dead as a door nail. I promise that it really isn't. The end is coming!
> 
> Blanket content warnings. If you've made it this far you've seen the worst I have for you.

Dennis walked down the boardwalk, hands in his pockets. Tiny shots were in there - vodka, kahlua, tequila - but he hadn’t drunk any of them yet. He’d need them later to mellow out the coke high and prevent the crash. The former president of Delta Omega Lambda had taught him that before he was stripped of privileges for petty hazing charges. Bullshit - a couple broken arms were nothing in exchange for lifelong camaraderie.  

He took the heat for Dennis being. . . _ involved _ in said arm-breakings. The true meaning of brotherhood. Well, that, and exorbitant amounts of cash. Delta Omega Lambda got a new house out of it. Everyone won.

It was unfortunate that Dee had flushed his coke so early in the afternoon. None of his dealers were prowling aboveground. As he walked further and further, a scowl appeared on his face. Goddammit. He’d have to go pretend some trash girl was interesting and ask her where she got hers. Normally, the thrill of the chase was exciting, but without his morning coke he just wasn’t in the fucking mood. 

He scanned the boardwalk, looking for trash. Too pretty. . .too rich. . .too old. . .too many friends - aha! A white girl with dreds was leaning between buildings, smoking a cigarette. Dennis smiled at her. She cocked a curious eyebrow. 

Perfect.

*

Sand crunched under his shoes as he fucked the girl from behind. He was fully clothed (because he wasn’t a goddamn animal) but she had stripped off her dress the minute coke flooded her system. Coke dust and sand covered the mirror that had been thrown to the ground in a fit of passion. Dennis could only just make out a reflection of the place where their bodies connected, red cock to pale ass, in and out. Her ugly face was pressed to one of the rickety poles that held up the boardwalk. She groaned as he thrust into her. Groan, creak, groan, creak, groan, groan, creak -

“Would you shut the hell up?” he said. The coke they’d snorted was Columbia pure, and all the noise was starting to hurt his teeth.

“Mhm,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. Even still, she gulped like a beached fish. Disgusting.

Dennis leaned into her to thrust deeper, deeper. His face buried into her dreads. They were greasy and stank of sunscreen. He pulled his face away, and the grease came with it. His high peaked and then - a moment of clarity.

_ Holy shit. I’m fucking a zero to get cocaine. _

“Why did you stop?” mumbled the girl.

“I. . .no reason,” said Dennis. He picked up the pace again. She was gross but - fuck, he was already halfway there. The girl started groaning again - groan, groan, creak. He grabbed her wrist, and squeezed it tight. She yelped in surprise.

“Be quiet!” he whispered through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to get caught before I finish.”


	12. Day 7 - Dee, Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took forever. Bet you thought my problematic ass was dead. NOPE. Just editing this to hell and back. Hope you guys like it. Blanket warnings.

It was late when Dee slammed into the house, boy toy in tow. She pushed him up against the wall; he kicked the door shut. Dee’s fumbling fingers grabbed the lapel of his wrinkled shirt.

“You,” she said with a smile. “Are in for the ride. . .of your life.”

Her kiss was sloppy and wet. The guy laughed into her mouth and kissed her back. He tucked his hand into the back of her jeans, and she moaned. His hands slid further down to squeeze her ass.

“Can’t wait,” he murmured.

Dee pulled away, and took him by the hand. His eyes flitted upstairs. She shook her head.

“No, no. Can’t upstairs. It’s not. . .clean,” she said. Her stomach turned over at the thought; she willed it away. No - she could deal with that later. Tonight was about getting dicked down so hard she forgot her name. . .and everything else too.

She led him to the living room, pasting a seductive smile on her face. The couch was comfortable; it would be perfect for fucking. Dee looked backwards at him as she walked through the entryway. _God_ , he was hot. She couldn’t wait to just –

“Dee?” said a familiar groggy voice. Her brother was sprawled on the couch, covered in sand and sweat. His eyes remained closed.

“What the fuck?” she said.

Dennis rubbed his eyes, and opened them. He looked from her to her date. Then, he scowled.

“Who’s he?”

“None of your business!” said Dee. “Get out!”

He sat up, staring her right in the eyes. “No.”

Dee let go of her partner’s hand, and marched towards her brother.

“Out,” she repeated. Her brother blinked once, twice. He sat up straighter. A thick wave of cold narcissism washed over him.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be playing any more of your little mind games today, Deandra,” he said. Dennis stood up, and took a step closer. “The time for that has ended.”

Dee laughed. “Oh my God. Do you listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Oh Dee,” said Dennis shaking his head. “Dee, Dee, Dee. You think acting innocent will hide your true nature from your boy toy over here. That you’re not out for revenge. Whether it’s against me or all men – well, it’s hard to say.”

Her date tapped her on the shoulder. She broke eye contact with Dennis.

“What?”

“Who is that?” he asked.

“My insane brother,” said Dee through gritted teeth. Dennis’ eyes lit up – oh _fuck_ , she just gave him ammo to start playing dirty.

“Awfully funny for you to be calling someone else insane considering your. . .history,” said Dennis.

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” said Dee. Dennis looked over to her date, and finally relinquished his ‘master manipulator’ persona. Dee tensed; he was going in for the kill with a casual face.

“Hey, asshole. You know she lit someone on fire, right?”

“ _What?”_ her date cried. Dee barely heard him; her throat was raw with rage.

“You _dick_ ,” she said, encroaching further into Dennis’ personal space. “You think this is funny?” She poked him hard in the chest. “You think I wouldn’t do it again?”

Dennis’ face contorted into rage. He pushed her back.

“No. Because you need me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” said Dee. Dennis stomped his foot in frustration, and pulled at his hair.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable! You really can’t see -” He gave her a piercing look. “I _made you_ , Sweet Dee!”

Dee threw her hands up in the air. “What the fuck are you _talking about_?”

Her brother closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. Dee’s date took the opportunity to say, “Hey uh. . .I’m gonna go.”

She waved him off; he ran out the door, and slammed it behind him. Dennis started to pace.

“You came here. . .miserable. I worked. . .so hard. . .to get a guy. . .to get beer. . .I _shared my drugs_. I took you to parties! And you - you’re happy now! I did this all, all for you -"

Dee cut him off with a cold laugh.

“Oh my God. You are delusional!”

“What’s going on?” slurred a voice above them. Dee and Dennis quieted as they looked up in unison. Their mother was swaying at the top of the stairs. One hand gripped the bannister, and the other held a half-finished martini. Both hands were white-knuckled as if she couldn’t decide which object would help keep her balanced.

“Nothing, mom,” said Dee in her sweetest voice.

“Dee’s just being a bitch, is all,” said Dennis. Dee glared at him; his statement was a great way to keep Barbara out of it, but it also kept their argument going after she was gone. She kicked him in the shin, and he winced.

Barbara sighed. “Dee. . .when will you learn.” She downed the rest of the martini, and dropped the glass down the stairs. “Whoops. Guess I have to. . .get more.”

Dee caught the next minute in snapshots of chaos. Tripping, crying, blood. She and her brother meeting eyes. Sirens, equipment, telling the story – always the same. ‘Drugs in her blood, alcohol, stairs.’ Gratitude that this time, they weren’t hurt too. She never learned.

They sat in the waiting room, laughing and dozing, companions in blood and crisis.

And they waited.


	13. Day 8 - Dee, Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *covers eyes to throw this into the world*
> 
> Okay so I've never finished a long story before and I really really hope this ending works. YMMV. There are so many people I would like to thank for going on this journey with me. Here is where my thank yous lie:
> 
> Thank you to golden_goose for encouraging this story from the time it was a seedling of an idea until it was all grown up. 
> 
> Thank you to singingtomysoul for being my eternal sounding board on Dennis characterization. You helped set it right when I needed it most.
> 
> Thank you to blink_blue for encouraging this story despite not being a DeeDennis shipper and cheering me on through many of its drafts.
> 
> Thank you to whatsupbitches (Larkin) for squeeing with me in my inbox and giving me many suggestions that helped me through lots of frustrations.
> 
> Thank you to woollen_pharaohs for making my cover art and for being a true cheerleader.
> 
> Thank you to shipwrecks for reading this fic within a few hours just so I could complain to you that I couldn't figure out the goddamn climax. Your input was invaluable.
> 
> Thank you to all of my commenters, kudosers, bookmarkers, and subscribers for making me determined to finish this beast. The positive response to this has brought me so much happiness. You're the inspiration!

Dee sat on her bed, a pile of clothes in her lap. Her overflowing suitcase rested on the floor. Packing gave way to despair when she found that her clothes didn’t fit into the bag crumpled up into balls. She was going to have to fold dirty clothes and god _ damn _ it, that was the last thing she wanted to do after being up all night. The hour of sleep she’d gotten had only made her high and hazy. Stupid mom with her stupid wrist in a stupid cast. She’d already thrown a fit downstairs about how she couldn’t fold laundry one-handed, Frank, someone  _ else _ was going to have to do it for her. Then, a grunt and a clatter followed by a shattering glass.

Just like the old days.

Dennis was undoubtedly still asleep. He’d passed out in the car on the way home from the hospital in such a deep state of unconsciousness that she considered telling Frank to take them back. His intermittent twitches were the only sign that he was still alive. Fifteen minutes into the drive, Dee switched from tense curiosity to envy. Her attempts to sleep in the car were futile. 

She shook her head to clear it. Time to try packing again before she was without an excuse to not help mom. Dee grabbed the pile of clothes out of the suitcase, and dropped them onto the bed. She pulled out a crop top and folded it.

Click, clack, click, clack, knock, knock! 

“Dee?” said her brother with a hoarse voice. Dee’s shoulders tensed. Banding together in the heat of the moment last night was one thing, but -

“What?” she said.

“Let me in,” he said, as if trying to jiggle the door open hadn’t sent the message already.

Dee searched around for an excuse. “I’m not dressed.” Her stomach clenched - goddammit, now he’d be thinking about. . .

Her brother scoffed. “Fine. Get dressed. I have something important to tell you.”

She took her time pretending to put on clothes. Then, she opened the door.

“What do you want?” she said. Her brother pushed past her and looked around.

“It’s too much of a shitshow downstairs to get beer. Where’s your stash?” He looked around the room, and frowned. “Oh, Jesus. Looks like bull went through here. Do you know where your beer is?”

If she lied and said she didn’t have any, he’d mess through all her shit anyway. In the name of making him leave faster, Dee pointed to the side table drawer. “I only have four left. Don’t take em all.”

He gave her a thumbs up, then went to the drawer and took out a beer. When he attempted to open it on the side table, she took it from his hands.

“It’s a twist cap, dumbass,” she said. As he downed it like water, he gave her a look.  _ I knew that. _

She grabbed her own beer. Might as well before he got any ideas. Dee cracked it open, and sat down on the bed. Her brother sat down too - beside her, but not close enough to touch. They drank in silence for a few minutes. A familiar quietude borne from years of hiding together as their parents fought. 

This was the first time they’d done this in years. Last time, their shoulders touched - no real intimacy, but a corner of shared warmth. It had progressed through puberty from holding each other to hands to shoulders and now -

Well, twenty-one was too old for that anyway.

“Pretty crazy last night,” said Dennis after he swallowed the last dregs of his beer. Dee choked on a laugh.

“That’s the goddamn understatement of the year,” said Dee. Dennis reached over to the side table, and grabbed a second beer. He twisted the cap off this time. It fell from his hand onto the bed between them. He smiled.

“I dunno. Mom has done some pretty batshit stuff. I mean, compare that to the time she rounded us up in the middle of the night -”

Dee pulled her beer away from her lips. “Oh shit, and then she crashed our car into Wawa?”

“Mhm,” Dennis hummed into his beer. Dee rested her beer between her knees.

“You still have that dent in your ankle?”

Dennis smiled. “Yeah. It’s great - I tell girls all sorts of shit about how I got it. Nothing like a heroic injury to get someone into bed.”

Dee shook her head. “Gross.”

Her brother shrugged, and took another sip of his beer.

“Those pins in your wrist looked really bad with your back brace,” he said.

“I know,” groaned Dee. “Thank God I had Cricket to carry around all my shit.”

“All the lovesick drool on your books must have made it hard to read em, though,” said Dennis. 

Dee snorted. “Yeah. God, he was so pathetic.

Her brother nodded, then gulped down more beer with his eyes closed. Coming up for air brought a cough along with it. Dee followed suit, though she took pride in not choking on hers. Dennis rubbed his thighs, suddenly tense.

“So. . .going home,” he said. Three words and crushing reality seeped in like smoke under the door.

“What about it?” said Dee. She took a sip of her beer to cover for the defensiveness in her voice. Dennis ran his hand through his hair. He scrunched his face as though thinking of something to say, anything, and air caught in Dee’s throat hoping, praying -

“You got. . .plans or some shit?” he said.

“Moving to New York,” said Dee on a sigh of relief. 

Dennis shook his head. “Be real with me, Sweet Dee.”

“I am being real!” said Dee. 

Her brother cracked a smile. “Mom and Dad are gonna pay for that? Right after the hospital?”

Dee clenched her beer tighter, and picked at the label. “I’ll convince them.”

A look -  _ okay. . . _ \- as her brother drank more of his beer.

“When I’m done with school, I’m gonna be a veterinarian,” said Dennis.

It was Dee’s turn to crack a smile. “ _ Really _ .”

“Really!” said Dennis, color rising to his cheeks. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Your degree is in Communications!” said Dee. 

“There’s lots of communicating when you’re a vet!” said Dennis. A laugh bubbled out of Dee’s throat.

“Maybe if you’re Dr. Doolittle,” she said. Dennis glared at her.

“What do you know, anyway?” He said, beer halfway to his lips. Then, he downed the rest.

Another silence followed as Dee finished her beer. Here they were, at odds again. This didn’t carry the discomfort of touching but it, too, was something that should have left by twenty-one. Trips to the Jersey Shore always ended this way; their happiness became poisoned as though it had never existed. This year, the poison just came early. Maybe they were too old to be happy here anymore.

“Sounds like we won’t be seeing each other much,” said Dee. 

His face was unreadable as he breathed out, “Yeah.”

Dennis looked at the ground, silent. The bags under his eyes were darker when he tilted his head, and his shoulders sagged. Despite all his attempts to keep his youth, her brother’s face looked. . .old. His self-destruction was catching up with him as surely as hers was, and for a moment she thought of his choices culminating in flames and institutions. It could have been him.

Her fingers ghosted over her lips and a phantom memory of them, high, drunk out of their minds and the look on his face like he’d found connection after so long. If it had been him, and that had been her - if they’d gone to the Jersey Shore and cocaine was her best friend and then he was there and familiar and warm. If Dennis had that awful therapist and then the summertime and the warmth had been in their blood and on their faces -

Dee moved over until their shoulders touched. Her braids clacked against his face. He looked up, face brighter.

“You look dead. Did you not have any coke this morning?”

Dennis rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Decided to cut back. It’s getting expensive.”

Dee laughed. “That’s the only reason?”

The bright look on his face dissipated into a glare. 

“Yes,” he said.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over Dee. She’d mock him about this later but for now -

“I’m beat too. You should go make us some coffee.”

Dennis rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, and stood up. “Okay.”

As he walked out, she said as an afterthought, “And none of that watery crap. I want espresso.”

He smiled. 

“Alright, Sweet Dee.”

When he left, she flopped down on the bed, and exhaled a heavy breath.

Dee didn’t really expect Dennis to make coffee for two people. Which was fine - she didn’t like the way he made it anyway. Too strong or too watery - never just right. She got up, resumed folding, and made a mental note to complain that he didn’t make her any when she went downstairs.

After all the shit he put her through, he should at least think that she expected him to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers but Dee and Dennis don't succeed at their dreams. Love those trash twins. Thanks again!


End file.
